IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporalion 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  •72-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  IVIicroraproductions  /  Institut  canadisn  de  microreproductions  histuriques 


1 


O^ 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  NCiSs/Notes  technique*  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  Has  aitempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


Q    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


Couverture  endommagie 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  et/ou  peliiculie 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 


D 


y 


D 
D 


D 


titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I   Coloured  maps/ 


□ 


Cartes  giographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  mdrgin/ 

La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  >e  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  cartaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  d'une  restauration  epparaissent  dans  la  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  Atait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  f  ilmies. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  4t<  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  ditaiis 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-§tre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
una  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  norrna'e  de  filmage 
sont  indiquAs  ci-dessous. 

□   Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagies 

n    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pellicui6es 

I — I    Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 


□ 


Pages  dicoiortos,  tacheties  ou  piqu6es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quaf)ty  of  prir 

Quality  in6gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplAment&ire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Soule  Mition  disponible 


I     j  Pages  detached/ 

r~"|  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quaf)ty  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I — I  Only  edition  available/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  uu  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  peiure, 
etc..  ont  M  fiimies  d  nouveau  de  fa^on  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessout. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

^■■■H 

22X 

28X 

30X 

7 

12X 


16X 


2DX 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  heire  hts  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  o\<: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grAce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  herfi  arn  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  k'ieping  with  the 
filming  contract  spec.rications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  tho  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim6e  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  'jne  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  :^t  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle     ^ 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  -'^>  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  uppor  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

mmgggmm 


^ 


mf 


SAOBATH  LlBHAiiv,  Vol.  10,  No  295.    Published  Oct  I,  1807. 


[Entered  at  the  Post  Office  at  Elgin,  111 ,  as  Second  Class  Mail  Matter] 


-iA 


C./ 


r /c  J  S/,000     PRIZE     STORY. 


TUS:  A  COMRADE  OF  THE  CROSS. 


Ly  FLORENCE  M.  KLXGSLEY. 


Ipublisbcre'  Hnnounccment: 


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K'- 


■I'-c^ 


-t-^^^-^-^t^cO    — - 


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IV  •!:';T      <>,■'«    V'"''"'"''' 


6u '  idea     CU>x.K,^h  ^M^.^^<juuJC<i        ^      ) 


The  Days  of  Mohammed. 


•*>i;  f 


By  ANNA    MAY    WILSON 


'  ^  "-jb  vS'ifi  «-r-'-'l  1;:feii  -ir 

'  '  David  C.  Cook  Publishing  Company,  Elgin,  111.,  and  36  Washington  St.,  Chicago. 


^'irr'r''- 'ih:i>:i-  -iii^/llo  i-sWi'Ji    -^ 


PREFACE. 


.  '  ( ;    ■  1  ! 


In  "  The  Days  of  Mohammed,"  oue  aim  of 
the  author  has  been  to  bring  out  the  fact 
that  it  is  possible  to  begin  the  heaven-life  on 
earth.  It  is  hoped  that  a  few  helpful 
thoughts  as  to  the  means  of  attaining  this 
life  may  be  exemplified  in  the  career  of  the 
various  charuoters  depicted. 

An  attempt  has  been  made,  by  constant 
reference  to  the  best  works  on  Mohammed 
and  Ai'abia,  to  render  the  historical  basis 
strictly  correct.  Especial  indebtedness  is  ac- 
knowledged to  the  writings  of  Irving. 
Burton,  and  the  Rev.  Geo.  Bush;  also  to  ihe 
travels  of  Burckhardt,  .Joseph  Pitts,  Ludo- 
vico  Bartema  and  Giovanni  Finati,  each  of 
whom  undertook  a  pilgrimage  to  the  cities 
of  Medina  and  Mecca;  also  to  the  excellent 


synopsis  of  the  life  and  times  of  Mohammed 
as  given  by  Prof.  Max  MtiUer  in  the  intro- 
duction to  Palmer's  translation  of  the  Koran. 
As  the  tiny  pebble  cast  into  the  water 
sends  its  circling  wavelets  to  the  distant 
shore,  so  this  little  book  is  cast  forth  upon 
the  world,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  exert  some 
influence  in  bringing  hope  and  comfort  to 
some  wenry  heart,  and  that,  in  helping  some- 
one to  attain  a  clearer  conception  of  Divine 
love  and  companionship,  it  may,  if  in  never 
so  insignificant  a  degree,  perhaps  help  on  to 
that  time  when  all  shall 

"  Trust  the  Hand  of  Light  will  lead  the  people, 
Till  the  tliuuders  pass,  the  spectres  vanish, 
And  the  Light  is  Victor,  and  the  darkness 
Dawns  into  the  Jubilee  of  the  Agea" 


PRECEDING  EVENTS -SUMMARY. 


Yusuf,  a  Guebre  priest,  a  man  of  intensely 
religious  temperament,  and  one  of  those 
whose  duty  it  is  to  keep  alive  the  sacred  fire 
of  the  Persian  temple,  has  long  sought  for  a 
more  heart-satisfying  religion  than  that 
afforded  to  him  by  the  doctrines  of  his  coun- 
try. Though  a  man  of  kindliest  disposition, 
yet  so  benighted  he  is  that,  led  on  by  a 
deep  study  of  the  mysteries  of  Magian  and 
Sabffian  rites,  he  has  been  induced  to  offer, 
in  human  sacrifice,  Imri.  the  little  grand- 
daughter of  Ama,  an  aged  Persian  woman, 
and  daughter  of  an  Arab.  Uzza,  who,  though 
married  to  a  Persian,  lives  at  Oman  with 
his  wife,  and  knows  nothing  of  the  sacrifice 
until  it  is  over. 

Copyright,  1897,  by  David  C 


The  death  of  the  child,  though  beneath  his 
own  hand,  immediately  strikes  horror  to  the 
heart  of  the  priest.  His  whole  soul  revolts 
against  the  inhumanity  of  the  act,  which  has 
not  brought  to  him  or  Ama  the  blessing  he 
had  hoped  for,  and  he  rebels  against  the  re- 
ligion which  has,  tliough  ever  so  rarely,  per- 
mitted ths  exercise  of  such  an  atrocious  rite. 
He  becomes  more  than  ever  dissatisfied  with 
the  vagueness  of  his  belief.  He  cannot  find 
the  rest  which  he  desires;  the  Zenda vesta  of 
Zoroaster  can  no  longer  satisfy  his  heart's 
longing;  his  country-people  are  sunk  in  idola- 
try, and,  instead  of  worshiping  the  God  of 
whom  the  priests  have  a  vague  conception, 
persist  In  bowing  down  before  the  symbols 
Cook  Publishing  Company. 


»,*««««..«*»«._».^,f. 


THE  DAYS  OF 


5  themselves,  discerning  nnuKlit  but  the  ob- 
jects—the sun,  moon,  stars.  Are— light,  all  in 
all. 

Yusrf,  Indeed,  has  a  clearer  idea  of  God; 
but  he  worships  him  from  afar  off,  and  looks 
upon  him  as  a  God  of  wrath  and  Judgment 
lather  than  as  the  Fatlier  of  love  and  mercy. 
In  his  new  spiritual  i  gltatlon  he  conceives 
the  Idea  of  a  cloier  rei.ition  with  the  Lord 
of  the  universe;  his  whole  soul  calls  out  for 
a  vivid  realization  of  God,  and  he  casts 
about  for  light  in  his  trouble. 

From  a  passing  stranger,  traveling  in 
Persia— a  descendant  of  those  Saba?an  Per- 
sians who  at  an  early  age  obtained  a  footing 


MOHAMMED. 

in  Arabia,  and  whose  Influence  was,  for  a 
time,  so  strongly  marked  through  the  whole 
district  known  as  tlie  Nejd,  and  even  down 
into  Yemen,  Arabia-Felix,  —  Yusuf  has 
learned  of  a  new  and  strange  religion  held 
by  the  people  of  the  great  peninsula.  His 
whole  being  calls  for  relief  from  the  doubts 
which  harass  him.  He  Is  rich  and  he  decides 
to  proceed  at  once  towards  the  west  and  to 
search  the  world,  if  necessary,— not,  as  did 
Sir  (lalahad  and  the  knightr.  of  King 
Arthur's  Table,  in  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
but  in  search  of  the  scarcely  less  efful- 
gent radiance  of  the  beams  of  Truth  and 
Love.  .'  ' 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

YUSUP  BEGINS  HIS  SEARCH  FOR  TRUTH. 

.;  '  •      "  O  when  shaU  all  my  wanderings  end, 
And  all  my  steps  to  Thee- ward  tendl  " 


EACE,  oh  peace! 
that  thy  light 
wings  might  now 
rest  upon  me! 
Truth,  that  thou 
mightest  shine  in  upon 
my  soul,  making  all 
light  where  now  is 
darkness!  Ye  spirits 
that  dwell  in  yon  bright 
orbs  far  above  me,  ye 
that  alone  are  privileged  to  bow  before  the 
Great  Creator  of  the  universe,  ye  that  alone 
may  address  yourselves  to  the  Great  Omni- 
potent Spirit  with  impunity,  intercede  for 
me,  I  beseech  you!  Bow  before  that  Great 
Sovereign  of  all  wisdoau  and  light,  whom  we 
worship  through  these  vague  symbols  of  Are 
and  brightness;  plead  with  him  before 
whom  I  dare  lot  come,  in  my  behalf.  Be- 
seech of  him,  if  he  will  condescend  to  notice 
his  most  humble  priest,  that  he  may  lead 
him  Into  light  effulgent,  into  all  truth,  and 
that  he  may  clear  from  his  soul  these  vapors 


of  doubt  which  now  press  upon  him  In  black- 
est gloom  and  rack  his  soul  with  torment.  If 
I  sin  in  doubting  thus,  beseech  him  to  for- 
give me  and  to  lead  me  to  a  conception  of 
him  as  he  is.  Ye  that  are  his  ministers,  from 
your  starry  spheres  guide  me!  Whether 
through  darkness,  thorns,  or  stony  ways, 
guide  me;  I  shall  not  falter  if  I  may  see  the 
light  at  last!    Oh.  grant  me  peace!"    .'    ;; 

Thus  prayed  Yusuf,  the  Magian  priest.  He 
paused.  No  sound  passed  from  his  lips,  but 
he  still  stood  with  upraised  arms,  gazing  into 
the  Intense  depths  (f  the  Persian  sky,  pur- 
ple, and  flecked  with  golden  stars,  the  "  for- 
get-me-nots of  the  angels." 

His  priestly  vestments  were  dazzlingly 
white,  and  upon  his  shoulders  were  fixed 
two  snowy  wings  tliat  swept  downward  to 
the  ground.  His  black  beard  descended  far 
over  his  breast,  and  from  the  eyes  above 
shone  fortli  the  glow  of  a  soul  yearning  to- 
wards the  infinite  unknown,  whose  all  is 
God. 

Behind  him,  near  the  altar  of  the  rounded 
tower,-  round  in  the  similitude  of  the  orbs  of 
light,  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars, — danced  the 
saci-ed  fire,  whose  flames  were  said  to  h;  e 
burned  unceasingly  for  nearly  one  thousand 
years.  The  fiery  wreaths  leaped  upwards  to- 
ward the  same  purple  sky.  as  if  pointing 
with  long,  red  fingers,   In  mockery  of  the 


ti 


#■ 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


priest's  devotion*  and  the  ruddy  fflnre, 
falling  upon  blm  as  he  stood  so  still  there, 
enveloped  him  with  a  halo  of  light.  It 
gleamed  upon  his  head,  upon  his  uplifted 
hands,  upon  the  curves  of  the  wings  on  his 
shoulders,  silhouetting  him  against  the  dark- 
ness, and  lighting  his  white  habiliments  un- 
til, all  motionless  as  he  was,  he  seemed  like 
a  marble  statue  dazzllngly  radiant  in  the 
light  of  one  crimson  gleam  from  a  sinking 
'sun. 

And  so  he  stood,  heeding  it  not,  till  the 
moon  rose,  soft  and  full;  the  mountain-tops 
shone  with  a  rim  of  sil/er,  the  valleys  far 
below  the  temple  looked  deeper  in  the  shade, 
and  the  ttre  burned  low. 

Rapt  and  more  rapt  grew  the  face  of  the 
priest.  Surely  the  struggle  of  his  soul  was 
being  answered,  and  in  his  nearness  to  Na- 
ture, he  was  getting  a  fairt,  far-off  gleam  of 
the  true  nature  of  Nature's  God.  His  glance 
fell  to  the  changing  landscape  below;  his 
arras  were  extended  as  if  in  benediction;  and 
his  lips  moved  in  a  low  and  passionate  fare- 
well to  his  native  land.    Then  he  turned. 

The  fire  burned  Ioav  on  the  altar. 

"  Sacred  symbol,  wliose  beams  have  no 
power  to  warm  my  chilled  heart,  I  bid  you  a 
long  fareAvell!  They  will  say  that  Yusuf 
is  faitldess,  a  false  priest.  They  will  may- 
hap follow  him  to  slay  him.  And  they  will 
bow  again  to  yon  image,  and  defile  thine 
altars  again  with  infants'  blood,  not  discern- 
ing the  true  God.  Yet  he  must  be  approach- 
able. I  feel  it!  I  know  it!  O  Great  Spirit, 
reveal  Thyself  unto  Yusuf!  Reveal  Thyselt 
unto  Persia!    Great  Spirit,  guide  me!" 

For  the  first  time,  Yusuf  thus  addressed  a 
prayer  direct  to  the  Deity,  and  he  did  so  in 
fear  and  trembling. 

A  faint  gleam  shone  feebly  amid  the  ashes 
of  the  now  blackening  altar.  It  fiared  up 
for  an  Instant,  then  fell,  and  the  sacred  fire 
of  the  Guebre  temple  was  dead. 

"The  embers  die!"  cried  the  priest.  "Yea, 
mockery  of  the  Divine,  die  In  thine  ashes!" 

He  waited  no  longer,  but  strode  with  swift 
step  down  the  mountain,  and  into  the  shade 
of  the  valley.  Reaching,  at  last,  a  cave  in 
the  side  of  a  great  rock,  he  entered,  and 


stripped  himself  of  his  priestly  garments. 
Then,  drawing  from  a  recess  the  garb  of  an 
ordinary  traveler,  he  dressed  himself 
quickly,  rolled  his  white  robes  Into  a  ball, 
and  plunged  farther  into  the  cave.  In  the 
darkness  the  rusli  of  falling  water  warned 
him  that  an  abyss  was  near.  Dropping  on 
his  knees,  he  crei)t  carefully  forward  until 
his  hand  rested  on  the  jagged  edge  of  a  ledge 
of  rock.  Reside  him  the  water  fell  into  a 
yawning  gulf.  Darkness  darker  than  black- 
est night  was  about  him,  and,  in  its  cover,  he 
cast  the  robes  into  the  abyss  below,  then  re- 
tiaced  his  way,  and  plunged  once  more  into 
the  moonlight,  a  Persian  traveler  wearing 
the  customary  loose  trousers,  a  kuflyah  on 
his  head,  and  bearing  a  long  staff  in  his 
hand. 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  BEDOUIN  ENCAMPMENT. 

"  The  cares  that  infest  the  day 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away." 

—Longfellow. 

ANY  months  after 
the  departure  of 
Yusuf  from  Persia 
a  solitary  rider  on 
a  swift  dromedary 
reached  tlie  ex- 
treme northern 
boundary  of  El 
Hejaz,  the  province  that  stretches  over  a 
considerable  portion  of  western  Arabia.  His 
face  was  brown  like  leather  from  exposure, 
and  his  clothes  were  worn  and  travel- 
stained,  yet  It  scarcely  required  a  second 
glance  to  recognize  the  glittering  eyes  of  the 
Magian  priest. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  excitement  of  danger 
and  the  long  days  of  toil  and  privation  had 
at  last  bef;un  to  tell  upon  his  iron  frame. 
His  eye,  accustomed  by  the  fear  of  robbers 
to  dart  its  dark  glances  restlessly,  was  less 
keen  llian  usual;  his  head  was  drooped 
downward  upon  his  breast,  and  his  whole  at- 
titude betokened  bodily  fatigue.  His  camel, 
too,  went  less  swiftly,  and  picked  its  way, 


■!»» 


i«iW 


^^^^ 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED, 


with  low.  plaintive  ninnns,  over  the  roujjh 
and  pn'dpitouH  path  which  led  Into  a  wild 
and  weird  Klen. 

It  was  eveninu.  and  the  shadows  fell  In 
fantastic  streaks  and  blotches  acrrtss  the 
arid  valley,  through  whose  barren  soil  huge, 
detached  rocks  of  various-colored  sandstone 
rose  In  eerie,  Irregular  masses,  veritable 
castles  of  genii  of  the  uncanny  si)ot. 

Yusuf  looked  uneasily  around,  but  neither 
sight  nor  sound  of  life  was  near,  and  he 
again  allowed  his  faithful  beast  to  slacken 
its  pace  and  ci'op  a  few  leaves  of  the  coarse 
camel-thorn,  tlie  only  sign  of  vegetation  in 
the  deserted  place. 

A  few  trees,  hoAvever.  could  be  seen  in  the 
distance,  and  he  urged  his  camel  towards 
them  in  th<»  hope  of  tinding  some  water,  and 
some*  dates  for  food.  l{ea<'l»ing  the  spot,  he 
found  that  a  stagnant  pool  lay  below,  but 
there  were  no  dates  on  the  trees,  and  the 
water  was  brackish.  A  couple  of  red-legged 
partridges  tluttered  oft",  cackling  loudly  as 
they  went.  He  would  fain  have  had  them 
for  food,  but  their  presence  seemed  like  com- 
liauy  to  the  poor  wanderer,  and  he  did  not 
attempt  to  secure  them;  so,  throwing  himself 
at  full  length  on  the  ground,  he  flung  his 
arms  across  his  eyes  to  shield  them  from  the 
white  glare  of  the  sky. 

Suddenly  a  step  sounded  near.  Yusuf 
started  to  his  feet  and  grasped  his  scimitar, 
but  he  was  instantly  beset  by  half  a  dozen 
wild  Arabs,  who  dashed  upon  him.  scream- 
ing their  wild  Arabian  jargon,  and  Avaviug 
their  short  swords  over  their  heads. 

Blows  fell  thick  and  fast.  Yusuf  had  a 
dazed  consciousness  of  seeing  the  swarthy, 
wrinkled  visages  and  gleaming  teeth  of  his 
opponents  darting  In  confusion  before  him, 
of  hacking  desperately,  and  of  re«"'^iving 
blows  on  the  head;  then  a  sudden  gush  of 
blood  from  a  wound  on  his  forehead  blinded 
him,  and  he  fell. 

All  seemed  over.  But  a  shout  sounded 
close  at  hand.  Several  Arabs,  splendidly 
mounted  on  nimble  Arabian  horses,  and 
waving  their  long,  tufted  spears,  appeared 
on  the  scen'\  Thv  Bt^louin  robbers  fled  pre- 
eipitatelj,  and   Yusuf's  flrst   sensation  was 


that  of  being  gently  raised,  and  of  feeling 
water  from  the  pool  dashed  upon  his  face. 

The  priest  had  not  been  severely  wounded, 
and  soon  rec;>vered  enough  to  proceed  with 
the  party  which  had  rendered  him  such 
tlnu'ly  aid. 

An  hour's  ride  brought  them  to  the  head  of 
another  and  more  fertile  glen  or  wady, 
through  which  a  mountain  stream  wended 
its  way  between  two  bands  of  tolerably  good 
pasturage.  A  full  moon  In  all  Its  brilliancy 
was  just  rising.  Its  cold,  clear  light  floo<led 
the  wady,  bringing  out  every  feature  of  the 
landscape  with  remarkable  distinctness.  At 
some  distance  lay  a  group  of  tents,  black, 
and  pitched  In  a  circle,  as  the  tents  of  the 
Bedouins  usually  are.  Camp-ttres  studded 
the  valley  with  glints  of  red;  and  the  bark- 
ing of  dogs  and  shout«  of  men  arose  on  the 
night  air  above  the  hoarse  moanings  of  the 
camels.  Yusuf  was  indeed  glad  to  see  evi- 
dences of  Arab  civilization,  and  to  look  for- 
ward to  the  prospect  of  a  good  supper  and 
a  friendly  bed. 

The  return  of  the  party  was  now  noticed 
by  the  men  of  the  encampment.  A  group  of 
horsemen,  also  armed  with  long  spears 
tufted  with  ostrich  feathers,  left  the  tents 
and  came  riding  swiftly  and  gracefully  to- 
wards their  returning  companions. 

An  explanation  of  Yusuf's  sorrowful  plight 
Avas  given,  and  he  was  conducted  to  the  tent 
of  the  Sheikh,  which  was  marked  by  being 
larger  than  the  rest,  and  situated  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  circle,  with  a  spear  placed  upright 
in  the  ground  before  the  door. 

The  Sheikh  himself  received  the  stranger 
at  the  door  of  his  tent.  He  was  a  middle- 
aged  man,  of  tall  and  commanding  appear- 
ance, though  the  scowl  habitual  to  the 
Bedouins  by  reason  of  their  constant  expos- 
ure to  the  sun,  rested  upon  his  face.  He 
wore  a  kuflyah,  or  kerchief,  of  red  and  yel- 
low on  his  head,  the  ends  falling  on  his 
shoulders  behind  in  a  crimson  fringe.  His 
hair  was  black  and  greased,  and  his  eyes, 
though  piercing,  were  not  unkindly.  His 
person  was  thin  and  muscular,  but  he  wore 
gracefully  the  long  abba  or  outer  cloak, 
white   and    embroidered,    which   opened    in 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


front,  discloslnjr  an  undrrK'uniit'nt  of  ttKured 

inuHlln.  buund  by  a  crl  isou  Bash.    And  there 

was  native  grace  In  every  movement  when 

lie   eame   courteously   forward   and   saluted 

Y  u  s  u  f      with      the 

"  Peace  be  with  you  " 

of  tlie  Arabs.  He  then 

ex1(>nded  ids  hand  to 

help    tiie    traveler    to 

dismount.      and      led 

him   into  the  tent. 

"  Friend."  he  said, 
"  a  lonj?  journey  and 
a  close  acQUniutance 
with  death  are,  rre- 
thiiiks,  a  st)od  prepa- 
ration for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  Bedouin  hos- 
pitality, which,  we 
sincerely  hope,  shall 
not  be  laclcing  in  the 
tents  of  Musa.  Yet, 
In  truth,  It  seems  to 
us  that  thou  art  a 
fool  -  hardy  man  to 
tempt  the  dangers  of 
El  Hejaz  single- 
handed." 

"  So  it  has  proved," 
returned  the  priest; 
"  but  a  Persian,  no 
more  than  an  Arab, 
will  draw  back  at  the 
first  scent  of  danger. 
Yet  I  deplore  these 
delays,  which  but 
hinder  me  on  my  way. 
I  had  hoped  long  ere 
this  to  be  at  the  end 
of  my  journey." 

"We  will  hear  all 
this  later,"  returned 
the  Bedouin  with 
quiet     dignity;     "for 

the  present,  suffice  It  to  keep  quiet  and  let  us 
wash  this  blood  from  your  hair.  Hither,  As- 
wan! Bring  warm  water,  knave,  and  let  the 
traveler  know  that  the  Arab's  heart  is  warm 
too.  Now,  friend-stranger,  rest  upon  these 
cushions,  and  taii^  later.  If  It  please  you." 


With  little  enough  reluctance,  Yiisuf  lay 
down  upon  the  pile  of  rugs  and  cuwhinnB, 
and.  Willie  the  attendants  iiatlied  his  br  w. 
looked  somewhat  curiously  about  him. 


He  stood  with  upraised  arms,  gazing  into  the  depths  of  the  sky.— See  page  2. 


By  the  light  of  a  dim  lamp  and  a  torch  or 
two,  he  could  see  that  the  tent  was  divided 
into  two  parts,  as  are  all  Bedouin  tents,  by  a 
central  curtain.  This  curtain  was  occa- 
sionally twitched  aside  far  enough  to  reveal 
a  pair  of  black  eyes,  and.  from  the  softness 


i 


i: 


il 


n 


tff-  JiOr-r  i.  jy  JSSJ?Bl.i-»**a^. 


-*m^rmA 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


of  tho  voIfPR  which  Hounded  fi*om  tiiuo  to 
timo  iM'hInd  tin'  folds,  ho  Hurmlsi'd  correctly 
that  tbiH  aparuneiU  bolouged  to  the  chlef'H 
women. 

Several  men  entered  the  tent,  nil  swarthy, 
lithe  and  sinewy,  with  llu'  scowling  faces 
and  even,  white  teeth  characteristic  of  the 
typical  Arab.  They  gesticulated  constantly 
as  they  talked;  but  Yusuf.  though  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  Arabic  language,  paid  little 
attention  to  the  ct)nversation,  giving  hlm«elf 
up  to  what  seemed  to  him,  after  his  adven- 
tures, perfect  rest. 

Presently  the  chief's  wife  entered.  She 
was  unveiled,  and  her  features  were  dis- 
tinctly Hebrew;  for  Lois,  wife  of  the 
Bedouin  Musa,  had  been  born  a  Jewess.  She 
was  dressed  In  a  flowing  nthe  of  black  con- 
fined by  a  crimson  ginlle.  Strings  of  coins 
and  of  blue  opaque  beads  hung  upon  her 
breast  and  were  wound  about  her  ankles, 
and  she  wore  a  black  head-dress  also  pro- 
fusely decorated  with  beads  and  bangles  of 
silver. 

On  a  platter  she  carried  some  cakes,  still 
smoking  hot.  These  she  placed  on  a  low, 
circular  table  of  copper.  A  wooden  platter 
of  boiled  mutton  was  next  added,  along  with 
a  caldron  filled  with  wheat  boiled  in  camel's 
milk,  and  some  cups  of  coffee. 

Yusuf  was  placed  at  the  tab|ie,  and  Musa, 
after  sipping  a  little  coffee,  handed  the  cup 
to  him;  the  chief  then  picked  out  tlie  most 
savory  bits  of  mutton,  and,  according  to 
Arabian  etiquette,  handed  them  to  his  guest. 

Several  men  gathered  around  to  partake  of 
the  banquet.  They  crouched  or  reclined  on 
the  ground,  about  the  low  table;  yet,  savage- 
looking  though  they  were,  not  one  of  the 
Bedouins  ventured  an  Inquisitive  question  or 
bestowed  a  curious  glance  on  the  Persian. 

Among  them,  however,  was  a  little, 
inquisitive  -  looking  man,  whose  quick,  blrd- 
ilke  movements  attracted  Yusuf's  attention 
early  in  the  evening.  His  round  black 
eyes  darte  1  into  every  place  and  upon  every 
one  with  an  insatiable  curiosity,  and  he 
talketl  almost  lncess<!antly.  He  was  a  Jewish 
peddler  who  traded  small  wares  with  the 
Arabs,  and  who  was  constantly  somewhere 


on  tlie  road  between  Syria  and  Yemen,  being 
liable  to  appear  suddenly  at  the  most  niys- 
terlouH  times,  and  in  the  most  unlikely 
places.  t 

In  his  way,  Abraham  of  .Toppa  was  a  char- 
acter, and  oiw  n\i\y  be  pardoned  for  bestow- 
ing more  than  a  pawsing  glance  upon  him. 
Tiiough  permitted  to  eat  at  the  table  with 
the  rest,  it  was  evident  that  the  Arabs 
lo<*ked  upon  him  wit'.i  some  contempt.  They 
enjoyed  listening  to  his  storU's,  and  to  his 
recital  of  the  news  which  he  picked  up  In 
his  travels,  but  they  despised  his  Inqulsltive- 
ness,  and  resenteil  the  impertinence  with 
which  he  coolly  addressed  himself  even  to 
the  Sheikh,  before  whom  all  were  more  or 
less  reserved.  ' 

The  Persian  was,  for  the  present,  the  chief 
ohject  of  the  little  Jew's  curiosity,  and  as 
soon  as  the  meal  was  over  he  hastened  to 
form  his  acquaintance.     .;  ■> 

Sitting  down  before  the  priest,  and  poising 
his  head  on  one  side,  he  observed: 

"  You  are  bound  for  the  south,  stranger?" 

"  Even  so,"  said  Yusuf,  gravely.  t  . 

"Whither?"  ^    .-       •;     ;  f  f  v 

"  I  seek  for  the  city  of  the  great  temple.** 

"Phut!  The  Caaba!"  exclaimed  the  Jew, 
with  contempt.  "  Right  well  I  know  it,  and 
a  fool's  game  they  make  of  it,  with  their  run- 
ning, and  bowing,  and  kissing  a  bit  of  stone 
In  the  wall  as  though  'twere  the  dearest 
friend  on  earth!" 

"But  they  worship—"      li    '      .,'-';'    t*  i- 

"  A  statue  of  our  father  Abraham,  and  one 
of  Ishmael,  principally.  A  precious  set  of 
idolaters  they  all  are,  to  be  sure!" 

Yusuf's  heart  sank.  Was  It  only  for  this 
that  he  had  come  his  long  and  weary  way. 
had  braved  the  boat  of  day  and  the  untold 
dangers  of  night?  In  searching  for  that  pure 
essence,  the  spiritual,  that  he  craved,  had  he 
left  the  idolatrous  leaven  at  home  only  to 
come  to  another  form  of  it  in  Mecca? 

"  But  then,"  he  thought,  "  this  foolish  Jew 
knows  not  whereof  he  speaks:  one  with  the 
empty  brain  and  the  loose  tongue  of  this 
wanderer  has  not  probed  the  depths  of  di- 
vine truth." 

"  You  cannot  be  going  to  Mecca  as  a  pll- 


THE  DAVS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


jjrlni?"    linznnlod     tho    little    man. 


Th«> 


MaKi:tiis  and  the  SalaiMinH  wui'Hhlp  the  Htars, 
do  tlH'y  not?" 

"  Alan,  yes!"  Hald  the  priest.  *'  They  have 
fallen  away  from  the  ancieut  belief.  They 
worshln  even  tlu'  wtarH  theMiHelves,  and  have 
Bet  np  Inia^eK  to  them,  no  lonjjor  pereelvIiiK 
the  (Jrei't  InvlHJble,  the  Infinite,  who  can  be 
approached  only  through  the  mediation  of 
the  spirits  who  Inhabit  the  staiTy  orbs." 

"  Methlnks  you  will  And  little  better  In 
Mecca.  What  are  you  Kolnj;  there  forV" 
asked  the  Jew  abruptly. 

"  I  seek  Truth,"  replied  the  priest  quietly. 

"Truth!"  rei)eated  the  Jew.  "Aye,  aye, 
the  Persian  traveler  seeks  truth;  Abraham, 
the  Jew,  seeks  m.vrrh.  aloes,  sweet  perfumes 
of  Yemen,  sllke  of  India,  and  purple  of  Tyre. 
Aye.  so  it  Is.  and  I  think  Abraham's  com- 
modity Is  the  more  obtainable  and  the  more 
practical  of  the  two.  Yet  they  do  say  there 
are  Jews  who  have  sought  for  truth  like- 
wise; and  they  tell  of  apostles  who  gave  up 
their  trade  and  fisheries  to  go  on  a  like  quest 
after  a  leader  whom  many  Jews  will  not  ac- 
cept." 

"  Who  were  the  apostles?" 

"  Oh,  Jews,  of  course." 

"Where  may  I  find  them?" 

"  All  dead,  well-nigh  six  hundred  years 
ago,"  returned  the  Jew,  Indifferently.        ;  ■ 

Yusuf's  hopes  sank  again.  He  longed  for 
even  one  klndretl  spirit  to  whom  he  could  un- 
fold the  thoughts  that  harassed  him. 

"  I  do  not  know  much  about  what  they 
taught,"  continued  the  Jew.  "  Never  read  it; 
It  does  not  help  In  my  business.  But  I  got 
a  bit  of  manuscript  the  other  day  from 
Serglus,  an  old  Nestorlan  monk  away  up  In 
the  Syrian  hills.  I  am  taking  It  down  to 
Mecca.  I  just  peeped  Into  It.  but  did  not 
read  It;  because  it  is  the  people  who  live  now, 
who  have  gold  and  sliver  for  Abraham,  that 
Interest  him,  not  those  who  died  centuries 
ago;  and  the  bit  of  writing  is  about  such. 
However,  you  seem  to  be  interested  that 
way,  so  I  will  give  It  to  you  to  read." 

So  saying,  the  Jew  unpacked  a  heavy  bun- 
dle, and,  after  searching  for  some  time,  up- 
setting tawdry  jewelry,  kerchiefs,  and  boxes 


of  perfume,  ho  at  last  succeeded  In  finding 
the  parchmont. 

lie  han(le<l  It  to  the  Persian.  "  I  hope  It 
may  be  (»f  uh>«  to  you,  stranger.  Abraham 
the  Jew  knows  little  and  cares  less  for  re- 
ligion, bi»t  lie  would  be  sorry  tc  see  you 
bowing  with  yon  heathen  Arab  herd  at 
Mecca." 

"  Dog!    Son  of  a  dog!"  ■ 

It  was  MuHu.  Able  to  restrain  his  passion 
no  longer,  he  had  sprung  to  his  feet  and 
stood,  with  flashing  eyes  and  drawn 
scimitar,  in  resentment  of  the  slur  ou  his 
countrymen. 

With  a  howl  of  fear,  the  little  Jew  sprang 
through  the  door  and  disappeared  In  the 
darkness. 

Musa  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  Ha,  lack-brained  cur!"  he  said,  "  I  would 
not  have  hurt  him,  having  bniken  broad 
with  hlri  In  mine  own  tent!  Yet.  friend  Per- 
sian, one  cannot  hear  one's  own  people,  and 
one's  own  temple,  the  temple  of  his  fathers, 
desecrated  by  the  tongue  of  a  lack -brained 
Jew  trinket-vender." 

"  You  know.  then,  of  this  Caaba— of  the 
God  they  worship  there?"  asked  the  priest. 

Musa  shook  his  head,  and  made  a  gesture 
of  denial. 

"  Musa  knows  little  of  such  things,"  he  re- 
plied. "  Yet  the  Caaba  is  a  name  sacred  in 
Arabian  tradition,  and  as  such.  It  suits  me 
III  to  hear  It  «  the  tongue  of  a  craven- 
hearted  Jew.  In  HJth.  the  coward  knave 
has  left  his  trumpc  bundle  all  open  as  It  Is. 
I  warrant  me  he  \\.il  come  back  for  It  In 
good  time." 

A  dark-haired  lad  In  a  striped  silk  garment 
here  passed  through  the  tent 

"  Hither,  Kedar!"  called  the  Sheikh.  "  Re- 
cite for  our  visitor  the  story  of  Moses." 

The  lad  at  once  began  the  story,  reciting  it 
In  a  sort  of  chant,  and  accompanying  his 
words  with  many  a  gesture.  The  company 
listened  breathlessly,  now  giving  vent  to 
deep  groans  as  the  persecution  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  was  described,  now  bowing 
their  heads  in  reverence  at  the  revelation  of 
the  burning  bush,  now  waving  their  arms  In 
excitement  and  starting  forward  with  flash- 


m 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


It 


Ing  eyes  as  the  lad  pictured  the  passage  of 
the  Red  Sea.  .hpi 

Yusuf  had  heard  some  vague  accovnt  of 
the  story  before,  but,  with  the  passionate  na- 
ture of  the  Oriental,  he  was  strangely  moved 
as  he  listened  to  the  recital  of  how  that  great 
God  whom  he  longed  to  feci  and  linow  had 
led  the  children  of  Israel  through  all  their 
wanderings  and  sufferings  to  the  promised 
land.  He  felt  that  he  too  was  indeed  a  wan- 
derer, seeliing  the  promised  land.  He  was 
but  an  infant  in  the  true  things  of  the  Spirit. 
Like  many  another  who  'ongs  vainly  for  a 
revelation  of  the  worlcing  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
his  soul  seemed  to  reach  out  hopelessly. 

But  who  can  tell  how  tenderly  the  same 
All-wise  Creator  tieasures  up  every  out- 
reaching  of  the  struggling  soul!  Not  one 
throb  of  the  loving  and  longing  heart  is  lost; 
—and  Yusuf  was  yet,  after  trial,  to  rejoice 
in  the  serene  fullness  of  such  light  as  may 
fall  upon  this  terrestrial  side  of  death's  di- 
viding line.        .,     w«  I   „,r*  V,,. 

Poor  Yusuf,  with  all  his  Persian  learning 
and  wisdom,  had,  through  all  his  life,  linown 
only  a  religion  tinctured  with  idolatry.  Al- 
most alone  he  had  broken  from  that  idolatry, 
and  realized  the  unity  of  God  and  his  separa- 
tion from  all  connected  with  such  worship; 
but  he  was  yet  to  understand  the  connection 
of  God  with  man,  and  to  taste  the  fullness  of 
God's  love  through  Christ.  He  had  not 
realized  that  the  finger  of  God  is  upon  the 
life  of  3very  man  who  is  willing  to  yield 
himself  to  Divine  direction,  and  that  there,  is 
thus  an  inseparable  link  between  the  Creator 
and  the  creature.  He  was  not  able  to  say. 
as  said  Carlyle  in  these  later  days,  "  A  divine 
decree  or  eternal  regulation  of  the  universe 
there  verily  is,  in  regard  to  every  conceiv- 
able procedure  and  affair  of  man;  faithfully 
following  this,  said  procedure  or  affair  wil! 
prosper.  .  .  Not  following  this,  .  .  destruc- 
tion and  wreck  are  certain  for  every  affaii'," 
And  what  could  be  better?  Divine  love,  not 
divine  wraui,  over  all!  Yusuf  had  an  Idea 
of  divine  wrath,  but  he  failed  to  see— be- 
cause the  presentation  of  the  never-failing 
Fatherhood  of  God  had  not  yet  come— the  in- 
finite love  that  makes  Jesus  all  in  all  to  us. 


heaven  wherever  he  Is,  and  hell  wherever  he 
Is  not.  :^   V.;,  «i. 

Since  leaving  Persia,  this  was  the  first 
definite  opix)rtunlty  he  had  had  of  listening 
to  Bible  truth. 

"  Kedar  knows  more  of  this  than  his 
father,"  explained  Musa.  "'Tls  his  mother 
who  teaches  him.  She  was  a  Jewess,  of  the 
people  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  but  I  fear  this 
roving  life  has  caused  my  poor  I^ois  to  for- 
get much  of  the  teaching  of  her  people." 

"  You  speak  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  I  have 
heard  something  of  him.    Tell  me  more." 

Musa  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  I  know 
nothing,"  he  said.  "  But  I  chall  call  Lois. 
The  men  have  all  guue  from  the  tent,  and 
mayhap  she  can  tell  what  you  want." 

So  saying,  he  entered  the  women's  apart- 
n»ent,  and  sent  his  wife  to  Yusuf.        «  '-^^»^ 

"  You  wi«h  to  know  of  Jesvs  of  Nazareth?" 
she  said.  "  Alas,  I  am  but  a  poor  teacher.  I 
am  unworthy  even  to  speak  his  name.  I 
marrleo?  when  but  a  child,  and  since  then  I 
have  wandered  far  from  him,  for  there  have 
been  few  to  teach  me.  Yet  I  know  that  he 
^vas  in  very  truth  tho  Son  of  God.  He  was 
all-good.  He  healed  the  sick  on  this  earth, 
and  forgave  sin.  Then,  woe,  woe  to  me!— he 
was  cruc'fled, — crucified  by  my  people!  And 
he  went  up  to  heaven;  his  disciples  saw  him 
go  up  in  the  white  clouds  of  a  bright  day." 

"  Wherft  dwells  he  now?  Is  he  one  of  the 
spirits  of  the  stars?"  .^^^  ^^,,'^,^ 

"  I  know  not.    He  is  In  heaven." 

"  And  does  he  stoop  to  take  notice  of  us, 
the  children  of  earth?"  t^^K     ^  »   -^  ( 

'*  Alas,  I  know  not!  There  was  once  a  time 
when  Jesus  was  more  than  a  name  to  me. 
V/hen  I  knelt,  a  child,  beside  my  mother  on 
the  grassy  hills  of  Hebron,  it  seemed  that 
Jesus  was,  in  some  vague  way,  a  reality  to 
me;  but  long  years  of  forgetfulness  have 
passed  since  then.  Stranger,  I  wish  you 
well.  Your  words  have  brought  back  to  me 
the  desire  to  know  more  of  him.  If  you 
learn  aught  of  him,  and  it  ever  lies  in  your 
way  to  do  so,  come  and  tell  us,— my  Musa 
and  me,— that  we  too  may  learn  of  him." 

Rising  to  her  feet,  the  woman  saluted  the 
Persian  and  left  him.    Musa  entered  to  con- 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


duct  him  to  the  rugs  set  apart  for  his  couch, 
and  soon  all  was  silent  about  the  encamp- 
nient.  afv  xhh^i 

But  ere  he  fell  asleep,  Yusuf  went  out  into 
the  moonlight.  The  night  was  fllied  with 
the  peculiar  lightness  of  an  Oriental  night. 
The  moon  blazed  down  lilje  a  globe  of 
molten  silver,  and  a  few  large  stars  glowed 
with  scarcely  secondary  brilliance.  In  the 
silvery  brightness  he  could  easily  read  the 
manuscript  given  him  by  the  Jew.  It  was 
the  story  of  the  man  with  the  withered  hand, 
whose  infirmity  was  healed  by  Jesus  In  the 
synagogue.  And  there,  in  the  starlight,  the 
priest  boWed  his  head,  and  a  throng  of  pent- 
up  emotions  throbbed  in  his  breast. 

"  Spirits  of  the  stars,  show  me  God.  If 
this  Jesus  be  indeed  the  Son  of  God,  show 
me  him.  Give  me  faith,  such  faith  as  had 
he  of  the  withered  hand,  that  I  too  may 
stretch  forth  my  hand  and  be  made  whole; 
that  I  may  loolc,  and  in  looking,  see." 

This  was  his  prayer.  Ah,  yet,  the  "  spirits 
of  the  stars"  were  as  a  bridge  to  the  gulf 
which,  he  fancied,  lay  between  him  and  In- 
finite Mercy.     tii:,s  |v^;. (?;,.>■.  ,^,;/,nr.:f  ^:  -in    ,.;:■; 


>1)c;v  f^i^l 


CHAPTER  III. 


YUSUF  MEETS  AMZI,  THE  MECCAN. 

:;: ,  "  Mecca's  pilgrims,  confident  of 

Fate, 
And  resolute  ic  heart " 

—Lonfffelloio. 

HE  next  morning, 
Yusuf,  against  the 
remonstrances  of 
Musa  and  his  wife,  pre- 
pared to  proceed  on  his 
way.  Liiie  the  Ancient 
Mariner,  he  felt  forced 
to  go  on,  "  to  pass  lilte 
night  from  land  to  laud," 
until  he  obtained  that 
which  he  sought. 
When  he  was  almost 
ready  to  iepart,  a  horseman  came  galloping 
down  the  valley,  with  the  news  that  a  car- 
avan, en  route  for  Mecca,  was  almost  in 
sight,  and  would  make  a  brief  halt  near  the 


stream  by  which  Musa's  tents  were  pitched. 
Yusuf  at  once  determined  to  avail  himself 
of  the  timely  protection  on  his  journey. 

Presently  the  caravan  appeared,  a  long, 
irregular  line— camels  bearing  "  shugdufs," 
or  covered  litters;  swift  dromedaries, 
mounted  by  tawny  Arabs  whose  long  Indian 
shawls  were  twisted  about  their  heads  and 
fell  in  fringed  ends  upon  their  backs;  fiery 
Arabian  horses,  ridden  by  Arabs  swaying 
long  spears  or  lances  in  their  hands;  heavily- 
laden  pack-mules,  whose  leaders  walked  be- 
side them,  urging  them  on  with  sticks,  and 
giving  vent  to  shrill  cries  as  they  went;  and 
lastly  a  line  of  pilgrims,  some  trudgiug  along 
wearily,  some  riding  miserable  beasts,  whose 
ribs  shone  through  their  roughened  hides, 
while  others  rode,  in  the  proud  security  of 
ease  and  affluence,  in  comfortable  litters,  or 
upon  animals  whose  sleek  and  well-fed  ap- 
pearance comported  with  the  self-satisfied 
air  of  their  riders. 

A  halt  was  called,  and  immediately  all  was 
ruufusion.  Tents  were  hurriedly  thrown  up; 
the  pack-mules  were  unburdened  for  a  mo- 
ment; the  horses,  scenting  the  water,  began 
to  neigh  and  sniflf  the  air;  infants,  who  had 
been  crammed  into  saddle-bags  with  their 
heads  out,  were  hauled  from  their  close  quar- 
ters; the  horsemen  of  Musa,  still  balancing 
their  tutted  spears,  dashed  in  and  out;  while 
his  herdsmen,  anxious  to  keep  the  flocks 
from  mixing  with  the  caravan,  shrieked  and 
gesticulated,  hurrying  the  flocks  of  sheep  off 
in  noisy  confusion,  and  urging  the  herds  of 
dromedaries  on  with  their  short,  hooke^l 
sticks.  It  was  indeed  a  babel,  in  which 
Yusuf  had  no  part;  and  he  once  more  seized 
the  opportunity  of  looking  at  the  precious 
parchment.  To  his  astonishment,  he  per- 
ceived that  it  was  addressed  to  "  Moham- 
med, >son  of  A.)dallah,  son  of  Abdal  Motalleb, 
Mecca,"  with  the  subscription,  "  From  Ser- 
gius  the  Monk,  Bosra." 

Here  then,  Yusuf  had,  in  perfect  inno- 
cence, been  entrapped  into  reading  a  com- 
munication addressed  to  some  one  else,  and 
he  smiled  sarcastically  as  he  thought  of  the 
inqulsitiveness  of  the  little  Jew  who  had 
taken  the  liberty  of  "  just  peeping  in." 


mm 


10 


TEE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


It  remalnpfl,  now,  for  Yusuf  to  find  the 
Jew  and  to  put  him  again  in  possession  of 
his  charge.  He  searched  for  him  through 
the  motley  crowd,  but  in  vain;  then,  recol- 
lecting that  the  peddler's  bundle  had  been 
left  behind,  he  sought  Musa,  to  see  if  he  had 
heard  anything  of  the  little  busybody. 

Musa  laughed  heartily.  "  Remember  you 
not  that  I  said  his  trumpery  would  be  gone 
in  the  morning?  I  was  no  false  proi)het. 
The  man  is  lilve  a  weasel.  When  all  sleep  he 
finds  his  way  in  and  helps  himself  to  what 
he  will:  when  all  walie,  no  Jew  Is  to  be 
seen;  trumpery  and  all  have  gone,  no  one 
Ivuows  whither." 

So  the  priest  found  himself  responsible  for 
the  delivery  of  the  manuscript  to  this 
Mohammed,  of  whom  he  had  never  hitherto 
heard;  and,  knowing  the  contents,  he  was 
none  the  less  ready  to  carry  out  the  trust, 
hoping  to  find  in  Mohammed  some  one 
who  could  tell  him  more  of  the  same  won- 
drous story.  He  therefore  placed  the  parch- 
ment vei-y  carefully  within  the  folds  of  his 
garment,  bade  farewell  to  Musa  and  his 
household,  and  prepared  to  leave  with  the 
caravan,  which  had  halted  but  a  short  time 
on  account  of  the  remarljable  coolness  of  the 
day. 

"Peace  be  with  you!"  said  the  Sheikh: 
"  and  if  you  ever  need  a  friend,  may  it  be 
Musa's  lot  to  stand  in  good  stead  to  you.  I 
bid  you  good  speed  on  your  journey.  We 
have  no  fears  for  your  safety  now;  besides 
the  safety  of  numbers,  the  holy  month  of 
Ramadhan*  begins  to-day.  and  even  the 
wildest  of  the  Bedouin  robbers  usually  re- 
frain from  taking  life  in  the  holy  months. 
Again,  Peace  be  with  you!  And  remember 
that  the  Bedouin  can  be  a  friend." 

Yusuf  embraced  the  chief  tain  with  grati- 
tude, and  took  his  place  in  the  train,  wlilch 
was  already  moving  slowly  down  the  v    dy. 

As  it  often  happens  that  in  the  lost 
numerous  concourse  of  people  one  feel:  inost 
lonely,  so  it  was  now  with  Yusuf.  There 
seemed  none  with  whom  he  cared  to  speak. 


♦  The  month  of  Ramadhnn  was  held  as  holy  prior  to 
Mohammed's  time;  Ita  sanctity  was  but  conllrmed  by 
him. 


Most  of  the  people  were  self-satisfied 
traders  busied  with  the  care  ot  tlie  merchan- 
dise which  they  were  taking  down  to  dis- 
pose of  at  the  great  fair  carried  on  during 
the  Ramadhan.  A  few  were  Arabs  of  the 
Hejaz.  short  and  well-knit,  wearing  looses 
garments  of  blue,  drawn  back  at  the  arms 
enough  to  show  the  muscles  standing  out  like 
whip-cords.  Some  were  smoking  short 
chibouques,  with  stems  of  wood  and  bowls 
of  soft  steatite  colored  a  yellowish  red.  As 
they  rode  they  used  no  stirrups,  but  crossed 
their  legs  before  and  beneath  the  pommel  of 
the  saddle;  while,  as  the  sun  shone  more 
hotly,  they  bent  their  heads  and  drew  their 
kuflyahs  far  over  their  brows.  Many  poor 
and  somewhat  fanatical  pilgrims  were  inter- 
spersed among  the  crowd,  and  here  and 
there  a  dervish,  w'th  his  large,  bag-sleeved 
robe  of  brown  wool— the  Zaabut,  worn  alike 
by  dervish  and  peasant— held  his  way  undis- 
turbed. 

Yusuf  soon  ceased  to  pay  any  attention  to 
his  surroundings,  and  sat,  buried  in  his  own 
thoughts,  until  a  voice,  pleasant  and  like  the 
ripple  of  a  brook,  aroused  him. 

"  What  thoughts  better  Than  the  thoughts 
of  a  Persian?  None.  Friend,  think  you  not 
so?"  -        , 

Tlie  words  were  spoken  in  the  Persian 
dialect,  and  the  priest  lool^ed  up  In  surprise, 
to  see  a  ruddy-faced  man  smiling  down  upon 
him  from  the  back  of  a  tall,  white  Syrian 
camel.  He  wore  the  jubboh,  or  cloak,  the 
badge  of  the  learned  in  the  Orient;  his 
beard  was  turning  slightly  gray,  and  his 
eyes  were  keen  and  twinkling. 

"  One  question  mayhap  demands  another," 
returned  Yusuf.  "  How  knew  you  that  I  am 
a  Persian?    I  no  longer  wear  Persian  garb." 

"What!  Ask  an  Arab  such  a  question  as 
that!"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "  Know  you 
not,  Persian,  that  we  of  the  desert  lands 
are  accustomed  to  trace  by  a  mark  in  the 
sand,  the  breaking  of  a  camel-thorn,  things 
as  diflScult?  The  stamp  of  one's  country 
cannot  be  thrown  off  with  one's  clothes. 
Nay,  more;  you  liave  been  noted  as  one 
learned  among  the  Persians." 

Yusuf  bent  his  head  in  assent.    "Truly, 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED, 


11 


stronger,  your  penetrrtion  Is  incomprehen- 
sible," he  said,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"No,  no!"  returned  the  other,  good- 
humoredly;  "  but,  n^arlilng  /ou  out  for  what 
you  are,  I  thought  yorr  company  might, 
perdiance,  lessen  the  dreariness  of  the  way. 
I  am  Amzi,  the  Meccan.  Some  call  me  Amzi 
the  rich  Meccnn;  others,  Amzi  the  learned; 
others,  Amzi  the  benevolent.  For  myself. 
I  pretend  nothing,  aspire  to  nothing  but  to 
Icnow  all  that  may  be  known,  to  live  a  life 
of  ease,  at  peace  with  all  men,  and  to  help 
the  needy  or  unfortunate  where  I  may. 
More  than  one  stranger  has  not  been  sorry 
■  for  meeting  Amzi  the  benevolent,  In  Mecca. 
Have  you  friends  there?" 
i  "  None,"  said  Yusuf.  "  Yet  there  is  a  tra- 
dition among  our  people  that  the  Guebres  at 
one  time  had  temples  even  in  the  land  of 
Arabia.  Have  you  heard  aught  of  it?" 
.  "  It  Is  said  tliat  at  one  time  flre-temples 
were  scattered  tlu'oughout  this  land,  each 
being  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  a  planet; 
that  at  Medina*  itself  was  one  dedicated  to 
the  worship  of  the  moon  and  containing  an 
image  of  It.  It  Is  also  claimed  that  the  flre- 
worshipers  held  Mecca,  and  there  worshiped 
Saturn  and  the  moon,  from  whence  comes 
their  name  of  tlie  place — Mahgah,  or  moon's 
place.  The  Guebres  also  hold  here  that  the 
Blacli  Stone  is  an  emblem  of  Saturn,  left 
In  the  Caaba  by  the  Persian  Maliabad  and 
his  successors  long  ago.  But,  friend,  Persian 
influence  has  long  since  ceased  in  El  Hejaz. 
Metliinlis  you  will  find  but  few  traces  of 
your  country-people's  glory  there." 

"  It  matters  not,"  returned  the  priest. 
"  The  glory  of  the  flre-worshipers  has,  so  far 
as  Yusuf  is  concerned,  passed  away.  Know 
you  not  that  before  his  eyes  the  sacred  fire,** 
kept  alive  for  well-nigh  one  thousand  years, 
went  out  in  the  supreme  temple  ere  he  left 
it?  May  the  great  Omniscient  Spirit  grant 
that  Persia's  idolatries  will  die  out  In  its 
ashes!" 


*  Medina  at  this  time  bore  the  name  of  Yathrlb.  but 
In  this  volume  we  shall  give  It  the  later  and  better- 
known  name  of  "Medina,"  derived  from  the  earlier 
"Mahdinah." 

••  The  Moslems  noiv  assert  that  the  sacred  Are  went 
out  of  itself  at  the  birth  of  Mohammed. 


"And  think  you  that  there  is  no  Idolatry 
in  Mecca?  Friend,  believe  me,  not  a  house 
in  Arabian  Mecca  which  does  not  contain  its 
idol!  Not  a  man  of  influence  wlio  will  start 
on  an  expedition  without  beseeching  his 
family  gods  for  blessing!" 

"  And  do  they  not  recognize  a  God  over 
all?" 

"  They  acknowledge  Allah  as  the  highest, 
the  universal  power,— yet  he  is  virtually  but 
a  nominal  deity,  for  they  deem  that  none 
can  enter  into  special  I'eiationship  with  him 
save  through  the  mediation  of  the  household 
gods.  In  his  name  the  holiest  oaths  are 
nworn,  nevertheless  in  true  worship  he  has 
the  last  place.  Indeed,  It  must  be  confessed 
that  neither  fear  of  Allah  nor  reverence  of 
the  gods  has  much  influence  over  the  mass 
of  our  people." 

*'  Wliat,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  this  great 
pilgrimage,  whose  fame  reached  me  even  in 
Persia?  Does  not  religious  enthusiasm  lead 
tliose  poor  wretches,  hobbling  along  behind, 
to  take  such  a  journey?" 

Amzi  nodded  his  head  slowly.  "  Religious 
incentives  may  move  the  few,"  he  said. 
"  But,  friend,  can  you  not  see  that  barter  is 
the  leading  object  of  the  greater  number— 
of  those  well-to-do  pilgrims  wlio  are  super- 
intending the  carriage  of  their  baggage  so 
complacently  there?  The  holy  months,  par- 
ticularly the  Ramadhan,  afford  a  peiiod  of 
comparative  safety,  a  long  truce  that  affords 
a  convenient  season  for  traffic.  Alas,  poor 
stranger!  you  will  be  sad  to  find  that  our 
city,  in  the  time  of  the  holy  fast,  becomes  a 
place  of  buying  and  selling,  of  vice  and  rob- 
bery—a place  where  gain  is  all  and  God  is 
almost  unknown." 

"  But  you.  Amzi :  what  do  you  believe  of 
such  tilings?" 

"  In  truth,  I  know  not  what  to  think. 
Believe  in  idols  I  cannot;  worship  in  the 
Caaba  I  will  not;  so  that  my  religion  is  but 
a  belief  in  Allah,  whom  I  fear  to  approach, 
and  whose  help  and  influence  I  know  not 
how  to  obtain,  a  confidence  in  my  own  mor- 
ality, and  a  consciousness  of  doing  good 
works." 

"Strange,  strange!"  said  the  priest,  "that 


■r 


M 


12 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


-If 


we  have  arrived  at  somewhat  the  same 
place  by  different  ways!  Amzi,  let  us  be 
brothers  In  the  quest!  Let  us  rest  neither 
night  nor  day  until  we  have  found  the  way 
to  the  Supreme  God!  Amzi,  I  want  to  feel 
him,  to  linow  him,  as  I  am  persuaded  he 
may  be  known;  yet,  like  you,  I  fear  to  ap- 
proach him.    Have  you  heard  of  Jesus?" 

"  A  few  among  a  band  of  coward  Jews 
who  live  in  the  Jewish  quarter  of  Mecca, 
believe  in  One  whom  they  call  Jesus.  The 
majority  of  them  do  not  accept  him  as 
divine;  and  among  those  who  do,  he  seems 
to  be  little  more  than  a  name  of  some  one 
who  lived  and  died  as  did  Abraham  and 
Ishmael.  His  tenehinjr,  if,  indeed,  he  taught 
aught,  seems  to  have  little  effect  upon  their 
lives.  They  live  no  better  than  others. 
and.  Indeed,  thej'^  are  slurred  upon  by  all 
true  Mcccans  as  cowardly  dogs,  perjurers 
and  usurers." 

Yusuf  sighed  deeply.  It  seemed  as  though 
he  were  following  a  flitting  ignis-fatuus,  that 
eluded  him  just  as  he  came  in  sight  of  it. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  passed  in  com- 
parative silence.  The  evening  halt  was 
called,  and  it  was  decided  to  spend  the  nlglit 
in  a  grassy  basin,  traversed  by  the  rocky 
bed  of  a  mountain  stream,  a  "  fiumara." 
down  which  a  feeble  brooklet  from  recent 
mountain  rains  trickled.  Owing  to  the 
security  of  the  month  Ramadhan,  it  was 
deemed  that  a  night  halt  would  be  safe,  and 
the  whole  caravan  encamped  on  the  spot. 

As  the  shades  of  the  rapidly-falling  East- 
ern twilight  drew  on,  Yusuf  sat  idly  near 
the  door  of  a  tent,  looking  out  listlessly,  and 
listening  to  the  chatter  of  the  people  about 
him. 

Not  far  off  a  Jewish  boy.  a  mere  child,  of 
one  of  the  northern  tribes,  as  shown  by  his 
fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  sang  plaintively  a 
song  of  the  singing  of  birds  and  the  hum- 
ming of  bees,  of  the  flowers  of  the  North,  of 
rippling  streams,  of  the  miraged  desert,  of 
the  waving  of  the  tamarisk  an*^  the  scent  of 


roses. 


•rm'yiWii'^'-'i' 


Wi 


V  Yusuf  observed  the  childlike  form  and  the 
effeminate  paleness  of  the  cherub  face,  and 
a  feeling  of  protective  pity  throbbed  In  his 


bosom  as  he  noted  the  slender  smallness  of 
tlie  iiand  that  glided  over  the  one-stringed 
guitar,  showing  by  its  movements,  even  in 
the  fading  evening  light,  the  blue  veins  that 
coursed  beneath  the  transparent  skin.  He 
called  the  lad  to  his  side,  and  bade  him  sing, 
to  him.  Not  till  then  did  he  notice  the 
vacancy  of  the  look  which  b.'spoke  a 
slightly  wandering  mind.  Yusuf's  great 
heart  filled  with  sympathy. 

"Poor  lad!"  he  said,  "singing  all  alone! 
Where  are  your  friends?" 

"Dumah's  friends?"  said  the  child,  won- 
deringly.  "  Poor  Dumah  has  no  friends 
now!  He  goes  here  and  there,  and  people 
are  kind  to  him— because  Dumah  sings,  you 
know,  and  only  angels  slug.  He  tells  them 
of  flocks  beside  the  pool,  of  lilies  of  Siloam. 
of  birds  in  tlie  air  and  angels  in  the  heavens 
-then  everyone  is  kind.  Ah!  the  world  is 
fair!"  he  continued,  with  a  happy  smile. 
"The  breeze  blows  '  ot  here,  sometimes, 
but  so  cool  over  the  sea;  and  the  lilies  blow 
in  the  vales  of  Galilee,  and  the  waves  ripple 
bright  over  the  sea  where  he  once  walked." 

"  Who,  child?" 

"Jesus— don't  you  know?"  with  a  wonder- 
ing look.  "  He  sat  often  by  the  Lake  of 
Galilee  where  I  have  sat,  and  tho  night 
winds  lifted  his  hair  as  tliey  do  mine,  and 
he  smiled  and  healed  poor  suffering  and  sin- 
ful people.  Ah,  he  did  indeed!  Poor  Dumah 
is  talking  sense  now.  good  stranger;  some- 
times he  does  not— the  thoughts  come  and  go 
before  he  can  catch  them,  and  then  people 
say,  '  Poor  little  Dumah  is  demented.'  But 
if  Jesus  were  here  now.  Dumah  would  be 
hv^aled.  I  dreamed  one  night  I  saw  him.  and 
lie  smiled,  and  looked  upon  me  so  sweetly 
and  said,  '  Dumah  loves  me!  Dumah  loves 
me!'  and  then  I  saw  him  no  more.  Friend.  I 
know  you  love  him,  too.  What  is  your 
name?"  -'     '  ^     - 

"  Yusuf." 

"Then,  Yusuf.  you  will  be  my  friend?" 

"  I  will  be  your  friend,  poor  Dumah!"    '^    ^ 

*  Oh,  no,  Dumah  Is  not  poor!  He  is  happy. 
But  his  thoughts  are  going  now.  Ah,  they 
throng!  The  visions  come!  The  birds  and 
the  mists  and  the  flowers  are  twining  in  a 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


13 


wreath,  a  wreath  that  stretches  up  to  the 
clouds!  Do  you  not  see  It?"  and  he  started 
off  again  on  his  wild,  plaintive  song. 

Yusuf  8  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  drew 
the  lad  to  his  bosom, 
and  looked  out  upon 
the  grassy  plot  before 
the  door,  where  a  huge 
fire  was  now  shedding 
a  flickering  and  fantas- 
tic glare  upon  the 
wrinkled  visages  of  the 
Arabs,  and  lighting  up 
the  scene  with  a  weird 
effect  only  to  be  seen 
In  the  Orient. 

Caldrons  were  boil- 
ing, and  a  savor;  odor 
penetrated  the  air. 
Men  were  talking  in 
groups,  and  a  little  der- 
vish was  spinning 
around  nimbly  in  a  sort 
of  dance.  Yusuf  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment. 
There  seemed  to  be 
something  familiar 
about  his  figure  and 
movements,  but  in  the 
darkness  he  could  not 
be  distinctly  seen,  and 
Yusuf  soon  forgot  to 
pay  any  attention  to 
him. 

He  drew  the  boy,  who 
had  now  fallen  asleep, 
close  to  him.  What 
would  he,  Yu/?uf,  not 
give  to  learn  fully  of 
that  source  from 
whence  the  few  meagre 
crumbs  picked  up  by 
this  poor  child  were  yet 
precious  enough  to  give  him,  all  wandering 
as  he  was  at  times,  the  assurance  of  a  sym- 
pathetic God,  and  render  him  happy  in  the 
realization  of  his  presence!  What  must  be 
the  Joy  of  a  full  revelation  of  these  blessed 
truths,  if,  indeed,  trutlis  they  were! 

The  longing  for  such  companionship  filled 


Yusuf,  as  he  lay  there,  with  an  intense  de- 
sire. He  could  scarcely  define,  in  truth  he 
scarcely  understood,  exactly  wlmt  he  wanted. 
There  was  a  lack  in  his  life  which  no  human 


A  head  was  thrus'i  forward. 


It  was  the  little  dervish.— See  page  1 5. 


agency  had,  as  yet,  been  able  to  satisfy. 
His  heart  was  "  reacliing  out  its  arms  "  to 
know  God— that  was  all;  and  he  called  it 
searching  for  Truth.  ^^  .,         .  x  ;,,. 

Far  into  the  night  the  Persian  pondered. 
Ids  mind  beating  against  the  darkness  of 
what  was  to  him  the  great  mystery;  and  he 


H 


h\ 


14 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


u 

! 


&- 


prayed  for  light.  He  thought  of  the  Father, 
yet  again  he  prayed  to  the  spirits  of  the 
planets  which  were  shining  so  brightly 
above  him.  But  did  not  an  echo  of  that 
prayer  ascend  to  the  throne  of  grace?  Was 
not  the  eye  of  Him  who  notes  even  the  spar- 
rows when  they  fall,  upon  his  poor,  strug- 
gling child?  V  ;  ' 
And  the  end  was  not  yet. 


,;/     ^        CHArTER  IV. 

WHEREIN  YUSUP  ENCOUNTERS  A  SAND- 
STORM IN  THE  DESERT,  AND  HAS  SOME- 
WHAT OF  AN  EXPERIENCE  WITH  THE  LIT- 
TLE DERVISH.  •     <        ? 

"  A  column  lilgh  ind  vast, 
A  form  of  fear  and  dread." 

—Lons^fellow. 

•ITH  but  few 
events  worthy  of 
notice  the  journey 
to  Mecca  was  con- 
cluded. After  a 
short  halt  at 
Medina,  the  cara- 
van set  out  by 
one  of  the  three 
roads  which  then 
led  from  Medina 
;^  to  Mecca.* 

The  way  led  through  a  country  whose 
aspect  had  every  indication  of  volcanic 
agency  in  the  remote  ages  of  the  earth's  his- 
tory. Bleak  plains— through  whose  barren 
soil  outcrops  of  blackened  scoriae,  or  sharp 
edges  of  black  and  brittle  hornblende,  ap- 
peared at  every  turn— were  interspersed 
with  wadies,  bounded  by  ridges  of  basalt 
and  green-stone,  rising  from  one  hundred  to 
two  hundred  feet  high,  and  covered  with  a 
scanty  vegetation  of  thorny  acacias  and 
dumps  of  camel-grass.  Here  and  there  a 
rolling  hill  was  cut  by  a  deep  gorge,  showing 
where,  after  rain,  a  mighty  torrent  must 
foam  its  way;  and,  more  rarely  still,  a  stag- 
nant pool  of  saltish  or  brackish  water  was 
marked  out  by  a  cluster  of  daum  palms. 


•  A  fourth,  the  "  Darb-el  Sharki."  or  Eastern  Road, 
has  since  been  built  by  order  of  the  wife  of  the  famoua 
Huroun  ul  Kaschid. 


On  all  sides  jackals  howled  dismally  dur- 
ing the  night;  and  above,  during  the  day,  an 
occasional  vulture  wheeled,  fresh  from  the 
carcass  of  some  poor  mule  dead  by  the  way- 
side. 

Such  was  tlie  appearance  of  the  land 
through  which  the  caravan  wound  its  way, 
beneath  a  sky  peculiar  to  Arabia— purple  at 
nlgl)t,  white  and  terrible  in  its  heat  at  noon, 
yet  ever  strange,  weird  and  impressive. 

But  one  incident  worth  recounting  oc- 
curred on  the  way.  Yusuf,  Amzl,  and  the 
boy  Dumah  had  been  traveling  side  by  side 
for  some  time.  The  way,  at  that  particular 
snot,  led  over  a  plain  which  afforded  com- 
paratively easy  traveling,  and  thus  gave  a 
better  opportunity  for  conversation.  The 
talk  had  turned  upon  the  Guebre  worship, 
and  the  priest  was  amazed  at  the  knowledge 
shown  by  Amzi  of  a  religion  so  little  known 
in  Arabia. 

"  I  can  tell  you  more  than  that."  said  Amzi 
in  a  low  tone.  "  I  can  tell  you  that  you  are 
not  only  Yusuf  the  Persian  gentleman  of 
leisure,  but  Yusuf  the  Magian  priest,  accus- 
tomed to  feed  the  sacred  fire  in  the  Temple 
of  Jupiter.  Is  it  not  so?  Did  not  Yusuf 's 
hand  even  take  the  blood  of  Imri  the  infant 
daughter  of  Uzza  in  sacrifice?  Can  Yusuf 
the  Persian  traveler  deny  that?" 

Yusuf 's  head  sank;  his  face  crimsoned 
with  pain,  and  the  veins  swelled  like  cords 
on  his  brow.  '>s  -'  .  ,    ; 

"  Alas,  Amzi,  it  is  but  too  true!"  he  said. 
"  Yet,  upon  the  most  sacred  oath  that  a  Per- 
sian can  swear,  I  did  it  thinking  that  the 
blessing  of  the  gods  would  thus  be  invoked. 
The  rite  is  one  not  unknown  among  the 
Sabjieans  of  to-day.  and  common  even  among 
the  Magians  of  the  past.  Amzi,  it  was  in 
my  days  of  heathendom  that  I  did  it,  think- 
ing it  a  duty  to  Heaven.  It  was  Yusuf  the 
priest  who  did  it,  not  Yusuf  the  man;  yet 
Yusuf  the  man  bears  the  torture  of  it  in  his 
bosom,  and  seeks  forgiveness  for  the  black- 
est spot  in  his  life!  How  knew  you  this, 
Amzi  ?— If  the  question  be  an  honorable  one." 

"  Amzl  knows  much,"  returned  the  Mec- 
can.  "  He  knows,  too,  that  Yusuf  can  never 
escape  the  brand  of  the  priesthood.    See!" 


sii 


TEE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


15 


He  leaned  forward,  and  drew  back  the 
loose  garment  from  the  Persian's  breast.  A 
red  burn,  or  scar,  in  the  form  of  a  torch,  ap- 
peared in  the  flesh.  As  Yusuf  liastened  to 
cover  it,  a  head  was  thrust  forward,  and 
two  bead-lilie  eyes  peered  from  a  shrouded 
face.    It  was  the  little  dervish. 

The  priest  was  ar.noyed  at  the  intrusion. 
He  determined  to  taice  note  of  the  meddler, 
but  the  occurrence  of  an  event  common  in 
the  desert  drove  all  thought  of  the  dervisli 
from  his  mind. 

The  cry  "A  simoom!  A  simoom!"  arose 
througliout  the  caravan. 

There,  far  towards  the  horizon,  was  a 
dense  mass  of  dull,  copper-colored  cloud,  ris- 
ing and  surging  lilie  the  waves  of  a  mad 
ocean.  It  spread  rapidly  upwards  toward 
the  zenith,  and  a  dull  roar  sounded  from 
afar  off,  broken  by  a  peculiar  shrieking  whis- 
tle. And  now  dense  columns  could  be  seen, 
bent  baclvward  in  trailing  wreaths  of  copper 
at  the  top,  changing  and  swaying  before  the 
hurricane,  yet  ever  holding  the  form  of  va- 
pory, yellow  pillars,— huge  shafts  extending 
from  earth  to  heaven,  and  rapidly  advancing 
with  awful  menace  upon  the  terrifi^id  irulti- 
tude. 

The  Arabs  screamed,  helpless  before  the 
manifestation  of  what  they  believed  was  a 
supernatural  force,  for  they  look  upon  these 
columns  as  the  evil  genii  of  the  plains.  Men 
and  camels  fell  to  the  ground.  Horses 
neighei^  in  fear,  and  galloped  madly  to  and 
fro.  But  the  hot  breath  of  the  "  poison- 
wind  "  was  upon  them  in  a  moment,  shriek- 
ing like  a  fiend  among  the  crisping  acacias. 
The  sand-storm  then  fell  in  all  its  fury,  half 
smothering  the  poor  wretches,  who  strove 
to  cover  their  heads  with  thc'r  garments  to 
keep    out    the    burning,    blistering,    pitiless 

dust.  ski   M^'^':^.,.^  'x'" 

Fortunately  all  was  over  in  a  moment,  and 
the  tempest  Avent  swirling  on  its  way  north- 
ward, leaving  a  clear  sky  and  a  dust-buried 
country  in  its  wake.        i:_^i_    _i^^- :_  ixu^. 

In  the  confusion  the  dervish  had  escaped 
to  the  other  end  of  the  caravan,  and  was  for- 
gotten. 

At  the  end  of  the  tenth  day  after  leaving 


Medina  the  caravan  reached  the  head  of  the 
long,  narrow  defile  in  whl<h  lies  the  city  of 
Mecca,  the  chief  town  of  El  Hejaz.  It  was 
early  morning  when  the  procession  passed 
tliroufili  the  cleft  at  the  western  end;  and 
the  sun  was  just  rising,  a  glol)e  of  red,  above 
the  blue  mountains  towards  Tayf,  when 
Yusuf  stoi)pe(l  his  camel  on  an  eminence  in 
full  view  of  the  city.  Tliere  it  lay  in  the 
lieart  of  tlie  rough  blackisli  hills,  whose  long 
shadows  still  fell  upon  tlie  low  stone  houses 
and  crooked  streets  beneath.* 

The  priest's  eager  glance  sought  for  the 
Caaba.  There  it  was.  a  huge,  stone  cube, 
standing  in  the  midst  of  a  courtyard  two 
liundred  and  fifty  paces  long  by  two  hun- 
dred paces  wide,  and  shrouded  from  top  to 
bottom  by  a  heavy  curtain  of  dark,  striped 
cloth  of  Yemen. 

There  was  something  awe-inspiring  in  the 
scene,  and  the  priest  felt  a  thrill  of  appre- 
hensive emotion  as  he  gazed  upon  what  he 
had  fondly  lioped  would  prove  the  end  of 
his  long  joiu'ney.  Yet  his  eye  clouded;  he 
covered  his  face  with  his  mantle  and  wept, 
saying  to  his  soul,  "  Here,  too,  have  they 
turned  aside  to  worship  the  false,  and  have 
bowed  down  to  idols!  My  soul!  My  soul! 
Where  shait  thou  find  truth  and  rest?" 

Amzi  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "  Why  do 
you  weep,  friend?  Thou  art  a  false  Guebre. 
truly!  Know  you  not  that  even  they  hold 
the  Caaba  in  high  reverence?" 

There  was  a  tone  of  good-natured  raillery 
in  the  voice,  and  the  speaker  continued: 
"  Arouse  yourself,  my  friend.  See  how  they 
worship  in  Mecca.  They  are  at  it  already! 
See  them  run!  By  my  faith  'tis  a  lusty 
morning  exercise!" 

Yusuf  looked  up  to  see  a  great  concourse 
of  people  gathering  in  the  court-yard.  Many 
were  rushing  about  the  Caaba,  and  pausing 
frequently  at  one  corner  of  the  huge  struc- 
ture. 

"  Each  pilgrim,"  explained  Amzi,   "  holds 


•  Joseph  Pitts,  A.D.  1680,  says:  "  Mecca  is  surrounded 
for  several  miles  with  many  thousands  of  little  hills 
which  are  very  near  to  one  another.  They  are  all 
stony-rock,  and  bl'icklsh,  and  pretty  near  of  a  bigness, 
appenrlni?  Pt  a  distance  like  cocks  of  hay,  but  all 
pointing  towards  Mecca." 


16 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


himself  bound  to  go  seven  times  about  the 
temple,  and  the  harder  he  runs  the  more 
virtue  there  Is  in  it— performing  the  Tawaf. 
they  call  it.  Those  who  seem  to  pause  are 
kissing  the  Hajar  Aswad— the  Black  Stone, 
which,  the  Arabs  say,  was  once  an  angel 
cast  from  heaven  in  the  form  of  a  pure 
white  Jacinth.  It  is  now  blackened  by  the 
kisses  of  sinners,  but  will,  lu  the  last  day. 
arise  In  its  angel  form,  to  bear  testimony 
of  the  faithfui  who  have  kissed  it.  and  have 
done  the  Tawaf  faithfully.  And  now,  friend, 
come  to  the  house  of  Amzi,  and  see  if  he  can 
be  as  hospitable  as  Musa  the  Bedouin." 

Yusuf  gratefully  accepted  the  invitation, 
and  the  camels  were  urged  on  again  down 
the  narrow,  crooked  street. 

"  Know  you  aught  of  one  Mohammed?" 
asked  the  priest.  "  A  roguish  Hebrew  left 
me,  with  scant  ceremony,  in  possession  of  a 
manuscript  which  must  be  given  to  him." 

"  Aye,  well  do  I  know  him,"  said  Amzi. 
"  Mohammed,  the  son  of  Abdnllah  the  hand- 
some, and  grandson  of  Abdal  Motalleb,  who 
was  the  son  of  Haschem  of  the  tribe  of  the 
Koreish— a  tribe  which  has  long  held  a 
position  among  the  h'ghc-st  of  INIecca.  and 
has,  for  ages  past,  had  tUe  guardianship  of 
the  Caaba  itself.  Mohammed  himself  is  a 
man  of  sagacity  and  honor  in  all  his  deal- 
ings. He  is  married  to  Cadljah,  a  wealthy 
widow,  whose  business  he  luis  long  carried 
on  with  scrupulous  fairness.  He,  too,  is  one 
of  the  few  who,  in  Mecca,  have  ceased  to 
believe  in  idols,  and  would  fain  see  the 
Caaba  purged  of  its  Images." 

"  There  are  some,  then,  who  cast  aside 
such  beliefs?" 

-  "  Yes,  the  Hanifs  (ascetics),  who  utterly 
reject  polytheism.  Waraka,  a  cousin  of  the 
wife  of  Mohammed,  is  one  of  the  chief  of 
these;  and  Mohammed  himself  has,  for  sev- 
eral years,  been  accustomed  to  retire  to  the 
cave  of  Hira  for  meditation  and  prayer.  It 
is  said  that  he  has  preached  and  taught  for 
some  time  In  the  city,  but  only  to  his  imme- 
diate friends  and  relatives.  Well,  here  we 
are  at  la8t,"-as  a  pretentious  stone  buildiug 
was  reached.  "  Amzi  the  benevolent  bids 
Yusuf  the  Persian  priest  welcome." 


Amzi  led  the  priest  Into  a  house  furnished 
with  no  small  degree  of  Oriental  splendor. 

"  Rlt^ht  to  the  carven  cedorn  doors, 
Flung  inward  over  spangled  floors, 
Droud  based  fligbts  of  marble  stairs 
Ran  up  with  golden  balustrade, 
After  the  fashion  of  the  time." 

A  meal  of  Oriental  dishes,  dried  fruit  and 
sweetmeats  was  prepared;  and,  wlien  the 
coolness  of  evening  had  come,  the  two 
friends  proceeded  to  the  temple. 

Entering  by  a  western  gate,  they  found 
tlie  great  quadrangle  crowded  with  men, 
women  and  children,  some  standing  In 
groups,  with  sanctimonious  air,  at  prayers, 
while  others  walked  or  ran  about  tlie  Caaba, 
which  loomed  huge  and  somber  beneath  the 
solemn  light  of  the  stars.  A  few  solitary 
torches— for  at  that  time  the  slender  pillars 
with  their  myriads  of  lamps  had  not  been 
erected— lit  up  the  scene  with  a  weird,  wav- 
ering glare,  and  threw  deep  shadows  across 
the  white,  sanded  ground. 

A  curious  crowd  it  seemed.  The  wild  en- 
thusiasm that  marked  the  conduct  of  the 
followers  of  Mohammed  ut  a  later  day  was 
absent,  yet  every  motion  of  the  motley 
crowd  proclaimed  the  veneration  with  which 
the  place  Inspired  the  impressionable  and 
excitable  Arabs. 

Here  stood  a  wealthy  Mecca  n,  with  flow- 
ing robes,  arms  crossed  and  eyes  turned 
upward;  there  stalked  a  tall  and  gaunt 
figure  whose  black  robes  and  heavy  black 
head-d'-ess  proclaimed  the  wearer  a  Bedouin 
woman.  Here  ran  a  group  of  beggars;  and 
there  a  number  of  half-naked  pilgrims  clung 
to  the  curtained  walls.  Once  a  corpse  was 
carried  Into  the  enclosure  and  borne  in 
solemn  Taw^af  round  the  edifice. 

"  Look!"  cried  poor  Dumah.  "  The  son  of 
the  widow  of  Nalnl  The  son  of  the  widow 
of  Nain!  Oh,  why  does  not  he  whom  Dumah 
sees  In  his  dreams  come  to  raise  him!  But 
then,  there  are  Idols  here,  and  he  cannot 
come  where  there  are  other  gods  before 
him." 

On  surveying  the  temple,  Yusuf  discovered 
that  the  door  of  the  edifice  was  placed  seven 
feet  above  the  ground.  Amzi  informed  him 
that  the  temple  might  be  entered  only  at 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


17 


certnln  times,  but  thnt  it  contained  an  imn^ro 
of  Abrahau  holding  In  its  hand  some  arrows 
without  heads;  also  a  similar  statue  of  Ish- 
mael  likewise  with  divining  arrows,  and 
lesser  Images  of  propliots  and  angels 
amounting  almost  to  the  number  of  three 
hundred. 

Passing  round  tl<e  temple  to  the  north- 
eastern corner.  Yusuf  loolied  curiously  at 
the  Blaolt  Stone,  which  was  set  in  the  wall 
at  a  few  spans  from  the  ground,  and  which 
seemed  to  be  black  with  yellowish  specks  in 
It.*  Many  peoi)le  were  i)res8ing  forward  io 
kiss  it,  while  numy  more  were  drinking  and 
laving  themselves  with  wate»  from  a  well  a 
few  paces  distant,— the  well  Zem-Zem,— be- 
lieving that  in  so  doing  their  sins  were 
washed  off  In  the  water. 

"  This,"  said  Amzi,  pointing  to  the  spring, 
"  is  said  to  be  the  well  which  gushed  up  to 
give  drink  to  our  forefather  Ishmael  and 
Hagar  his  mother,  when  they  had  gone  into 
the  wilderness  to  die." 

Yusuf  sighed  heavily.  Such  empty  cere- 
mony had  no  longer  any  attraction  for  him, 
and  he  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  moun- 
tain Abu  Kubays,  towering  dark  and  gloomy 
above  the  town,  its  black  crest  tonclicd  with 
a  silvery  radiance  by  the  light  of  the  stars 
shining  brilliantly  above.       i 

Was  this,  then,  the  Caaba?  Was  this 
what  he  had  fondly  hoped  would  fill  his 
heart's  longing?  Was  there  any  food  in  tliis 
empty  ceremonial  for  a  hungering  soul? 
Why,  oh  why  did  the  truth  ever  elude  him. 
flitting  like  an  ignls-fatuus  with  phantom 
light  through  a  dark  and  blackened  wilder- 
ness! •::    ><>■  i-'i 

Amzi  was  talking  to  someone  in  the 
crowd,  and  Yusuf  passed  slowly  out  and 
bent  his  way  down  a  silent  and  deserted 
street.  No  one  was  in  sight  except  a  very 
young  girl,  almost  a  child,  who  was  gliding 
quickly  on  in  the  shadows.  Once  or  twice 
she    seemed    to    stagger,    then    she  •  fell. 


♦Burton  says  the  black  stone  is  volcanic,  but  is 
thought  by  some  to  be  a  meteorite  or  aerolite.  Burck- 
hardt  thought  it  comrosed  of  lava.  Of  its  appearance 
AliBeysaya:  "It  is  a  block  of  volcanic  basalt,  whose 
circumference  Is  sprinkled  with  little  crystals,  with 
rhombs  of  tile-red  feldspath  on  a  dark  background  like 
velvet  or  charcoal. 


Yusuf  hurried  to  her,  and  turned  her  face 
to  tlie  starlight.  Even  In  tliat  dim  light  he 
could  see  that  It  was  contorted  with  pain. 
Yusuf  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  in  a  low 
building  close  at  hand,  and.  witliout  waiting 
to  knock,  he  lifted  the  girl  in  his  arms, 
opened  the  door,  and  passed  in. 


CHAPTER  V. 

NATHAN  THE  JEW. 

"  I  shall  be  content,  what- 
ever happens,  for  what 
God  chooses  must  be  bet- 
ter than  what  I  can 
ch  oose. "— Epictetut. 

HE  same  evening  on 
which  Yusuf  visited 
the  temple,  a  woman 
and  her  two  children 
sat  in  a  dingy  little 
room  with  an  earth- 
en floor,  in  one  of  the 
most  dilapidated 
streets  of  Mecca. 
The  woman's  face 
bore  traces  of  want 
and  suffering,  yet  there  was  a  calm  dig- 
nity and  hopefulness  in  her  countenance, 
and  her  voice  was  not  despairing.  She  sat 
upon  a  bundle  of  rushes  placed  on  the  floor. 
No  lamp  lighted  the  apartment,  but  through 
an  opening  In  the  wall  the  soft  starlight 
shone  upon  the  bands  of  hair  that  fell  in 
little  braids  over  her  forehead.  Her  two 
beautiful  children  were  beside  her,  the  girl 
with  her  arm  about  her  mother,  and  the 
boy's  head  on  her  lap. 

"  Win  we  have  only  hard  cake  for  break- 
fast, mother,  and  to-morrow  my  birthday, 
too?"  he  was  saying. 

"  That  is  all,  my  little  Manasseh,  unless 
the  good  Father  sees  fit  to  send  us  some 
way  of  earning  more.  You  know  even  the 
hairs  of  our  heads  are  numbered,  so  he  takes 
notice  of  the  poorest  and  weakest  of  his 
children,  and  has  promised  us  that  there  will 
be  no  lack  to  them  that  fear  him."  - 

"  But,  mother,  we  have  had  lack  many, 
many  times,"  said  the  boy  thoughtfully. 


18 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


i.'l 


ii< 


The  mother  Biiiiled.  "But  things  have 
usually  come  right  In  the  end."  she  Ha  id. 
"  and  you  know  '  Our  llglit  affliction,  which 
Is  but  for  a  nionient,  worketh  for  us  a  far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.* 
We  cannot  understand  all  these  things  now, 
but  It  will  be  plain  some  day.  *  We  will 
trust,  and  not  be  afraid,'  because  our  trust 
Is  in  the  Lord;  and  we  know  that  '  he  will 
perfv'ct  that  which  concerneth  us,'  If  we 
trust  him." 

"And  will  he  send  father  home  soon?" 
asked  the  boy.  "  We  have  been  praying  for 
him  to  come,  so,  so  long!  Do  you  think  God 
hears  us,  mother?  Why  doesn't  he  send 
father  home?" 

The  woman's  head  drooped,  and  a  tear 
rolled  down  her  cheek,  but  her  voice  was 
calm  and  firm. 

"  Manasseh,  child,"  she  said,  "  your  father 
may  never  return;  but,  though  a  .Tew,  he 
was  a  Christian;  and,  living  or  dead,  I  know 
he  is  safe  in  the  keeping  of  our  blessed 
Lord.  Yes,  Manasseh,  God  hears  the 
slightest  whisper  breathed  from  the  heart  of 
those  who  call  upon  him  in  truth.  He  says, 
Jesus  says.  '  I  know  my  sheep,  and  am 
known  of  mine.'  Little  son,  I  like  to  think 
that  our  blessed  Savior,  who  '  laid  down  his 
life  for  the  sheep,'  is  here — in  this  very 
room,  close  to  us.  Sometimes  I  close  my 
eyes  and  think  I  see  him.  looking  upon  us  in 
mercy  and  love  from  his  tender  eyes,  and  he 
almost  seems  so  near  that  I  may  touch  him. 
No,  he  will  never  forsake  us.  Little  ones, 
my  constant  prayer  for  you  is  thi-t  yon  may 
learn  to  realize  the  depths  of  his  love,  ard  to 
render  him  your  hearts  in  return;  that  you 
may  feel  ever  closer  to  him  than  to  any 
earthly  parent,  and  prove  yourselves  loving, 
faithful  children  of  whom  he  may  not  be 
ashamed." 

The  woman's  voice  trembled  with  emotion 
as  she  concluded,  and  a  glow  of  happiness 
illuminated  her  thin  features. 
J;  "  Well,  mother,  I  was  ashamed  to-day," 
said  little  Manasseh.  "  I  got  angry  and 
struck  a  boy." 

"  Manasseh!    My  child!" 

"  You  cannot  understand,  mother;  you  are 


so  good  that  you  never  get  angry  or 
wicked.  But  the  anger  keei)s  rising  up  In 
me  till  It  seems  as  If  my  heart  would  burst; 
the  blood  rushes  to  my  face,  my  eyes  flash- 
then— I  strike,  and  think  of  nothli'g." 

She  stroked  his  hair  gently.  "  Manasseh, 
m>  boy's  temper  Is  one  enemy  which  he  has 
to  conquer.  But  he  must  not  try  to  conquer 
It  In  his  own  strength.  We  have  an  Al- 
mighty Helper  who  has  given  us  to  know 
that  he  will  not  suffer  us  to  be  tempted  be- 
yond that  we  are  able,  and  has  bidden  us 
cast  all  our  care  upon  him.  He  will  be  only 
too  willing  to  guide  us  and  uphold  us  by  his 
power,  if  we  will  but  let  him  keep  us  and 
lead  us  far  from  all  temptation." 

"  Then  what  would  you  do,  mother,  if  you 
were  in  my  place  when  the  anger  comes 
up?" 

She  stooped  and  kissed  him.  "  I  would 
say,  'Jesus,  help  me,'  and  leave  it  all  to 
him." 

Just  then  a  step  sounded  at  the  door. 
Some  one  entered,  and  a  cry  of  "  Father! 
Oh.  father!"  burst  from  the  children.  The 
mother  sprang,  trembling,  to  her  feet.  It 
was  the  long-lost  husband  and  father! 

Then  the  lamp  was  lighted,  and  the  trav- 
eler told  his  loved  ones  the  story  of  his  long 
absence;  how  he  had  embarked  at  Jeddah 
on  a  foist  bound  for  the  head  of  the  Red 
Sea;  how  he  had  been  shipwrecked;  had  be- 
come ill  of  a  fever  as  the  result  of  exposure; 
and  how  he  had  at  last  made  his  painful 
way  home  by  traveling  overland. 

As  they  thus  sat,  talking  in  ecstasy  of  Joy 
at  their  reunion,  the  door  opened  and  Yusuf 
entered  with  the  girl  in  his  arms. 

Water  was  sprinkled  upon  her  face  and  she 
soon  recovered.  She  placed  her  hand  on  her 
brow  in  a  dazed  way,  then  sprang  up,  and, 
just  pausing  for  an  instant  In  which  her 
wondrous  beauty  might  be  noted,  dashed  off 
into  the  night. 

"  It  is  Zelnab,  the  beautiful  child  of  Has-" 
san,"  said  the  Jewess.    "  She  will  be  well 
again    now.     The    paroxysms    have    come 
before." 

"  Sit  you  down,  friend,"  said  her  husband 
to  Yusuf.    "  We  were  just  about  to  break 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


19 


bivnd.  'TIh  n  soanty  nipnl,"  he  addod.  with 
a  sniilo.  "  But  we  have  been  enjoined  to  '  be 
not  forgetful  to  entertain  Htmngers,'  be- 
cause many  have  thus  entertained  auKt^lM 
unawares.  We  shall  be  glad  of  the  com- 
pany," 

There  was  a  manly  uprightness  In  the  look 
and  tone  of  Nathan  the  Jew  which  canght 
Yusuf's  fancy  at  once,  and  he  sat  down 
without  hesitation  at  the  humble  l)oard. 

And  there,  in  tliat  little,  dingy  room,  he 
saw  the  first  gleam  of  tliat  radiant  light 
which  was  to  transform  the  whole  of  his 
after  life.  He  heard  of  the  trials  and  dis- 
appointments, of  tl»e  heroic  fortitude  born  of 
that  trust  In  and  union  with  (iod  which  he 
had  so  craved.  He  received  his  first  glimpse 
of  a  God,  human  as  we  are  human,  who  un- 
derstands every  longing.  e\ery  doubt,  every 
agony  that  can  bleed  tlie  heart  of  a  poor 
child  of  earth. 

He  scarcely  dured  yet  to  believe  that  this 
God  was  one  really  with  him  at  all  times 
and  in  all  places,  eeing,  hearing,  knowing, 
sympathizing.  He  scarcely  dared  to  realize 
the  possibility  of  a  companionship  with  him, 
or  the  fact  that  the  mediation  of  the  planet- 
spirits  was  but  a  myth.  Yet  he  did  feel,  in 
a  vague  way,  that  the  light  was  breaking, 
and  a  tumultuous,  undefined,  hopeful  ecstasy 
took  possession  of  his  being.  Yusuf's  heart 
was  ready  for  the  reception  of  the  truth. 
He  was  unprejudiced.  He  had  cast  aside  all 
dependence  upon  the  tenets  of  his  former  be- 
lief. He  had  become  as  a  little  child  anx- 
ious for  rest  upon  its  father's  bosom.  He 
sought  only  God,  and  to  him  the  light  came 
quickly. 

There  was  an  infinity  of  blessed  truth  to 
learn  yet,  but,  as  he  went  out  into  the  night, 
he  knew  that  a  something  had  come  into  his 
life,  transforming  and  ennobling  it.  The 
divinity  within  him  throbbed  heart  to  heart 
with  the  Divinity  that  is  above  all,  in  all, 
throughout  all  good.  Though  vaguely,  he 
felt  God;  he  knew  that  now,  at  last,  he  had 
entered  upon  the  right  road. 

Then  he  thought  of  Amzi.  He  must  try 
to  tell  him  all  this.  Surely  Amzi  the  learned, 
the  benevolent,  would  rejoice  too  in  hearing 


the  story  of  Jesus'  life  on  earth,  of  his  com- 
ing as  an  expression  of  tiie  love  of  (iod  lo 
man,  tliat  man  might  know  Ciod. 

TlH'ough  the  dark  streets  he  hastened, 
thinking,  wondering,  rejoicing.  He  sought 
the  bedside  of  Amzi  on  tlie  flat  roof. 

*'  Amzi,  awake!"  lie  cried. 

"What  now,  night-hawk?"  said  the  Mec- 
can.  in  his  good-natured,  half-railing  tone. 
"  Why  pounce  upon  a  man  thus  In  the  midst 
of  Ids  slumbers?" 

"  Amzi,  I  have  heard  glorious  news  of 
him— that  Jesus  of  whom  we  have  talked!" 

"Well?" 

"  He  seems  indeed  to  be  the  God  for  wliom 
I  have  longed.  They  have  been  telling  me  of 
his  life,  yet  I  realize  little  save  that  he  came 
to  earth  that  men  might  know  him;  that  he 
died  to  show  men  the  depth  of  his  love;  and 
tliat  he  is  with  us  at  every  time,  in  every 
place  — even  here,  now,  on  this  roof!  Only 
think  of  it,  Amzi!  He  is  close  beside  us,  sett- 
ing us,  hearing  us,  knowing  our  very  hearts! 
There  is  no  need  more  of  appealing  to  the 
spirits  of  the  stars.  Ah,  they  were  ever  far, 
far  off!" 

"And  where  learned  you  all  this,  friend 
priest?"  There  was  an  indifferent  raillery  in 
the  tone  which  chilled  Yusuf  to  the  heart. 

"  From  Nathan,  a  Christian^  Jew,  and  his 
v;ife— people  who  live  close  to  God  If  any 
one  does." 

"  In  the  Jewish  quarter?"  , 

"  Even  so."  ,       ,    ''  > 

Amzi  laughed.  "  Truly,  friend,  you  have 
chosen  a  fair  spot  for  your  revelation— a 
quarter  of  filth  and  vice.  A  case  of  good  com- 
ing out  of  evil,  truly!" 

"  Will  you  not  grant  that  there  are  some 
good  even  in  the  Jewish  quarter?" 

"  Some,  perhaps;  yet  there  are  some  good 
among  all  peoples." 

"Amzi,  can  you  not  believe?" 

"  No,  no,  friend  Yusuf;  I  am  glad  for  your 
happiness— believe  what  you  will.  But  it  Is 
foreign  to  Amzi's  nature  to  accept  on  hear- 
say that  which  he  has  not  inquired  Into— 
probed  to  the  bottom  even.  He  cannot  ac- 
cept the  testimony  of  any  passing  stran^'or, 
however  plausible  it  may  seem.    Rejoice  if 


\ 

! 
! 


20 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


1 

V 


I' 


H 


you  will,  YuHUf,  in  tlu>  Hpiliit;  uf  u  nl)(l)t- 
tuno,  but  leave  Auizi  to  seek  fur  the  deep 
waters  Htlll." 

Anizi  was  now  tnlklnf?  quickly  nnd  Ini- 
preKHlvt'ly. 

Yusuf  was  uQiazod.  The  llj?ht  wuh  Im'kIu- 
nhiK  to  Khino  ho  brightly  In  IiIh  own  houI  tlmt 
he  could  not  comprehend  why  others  could 
not  see  and  believe  llkev/lse.  lit'  talked  with 
Ills  friend  until  the  dawn  bepin  to  tint  the 
top  of  Abu  Kubays.  but  without  effect.  At 
every  turn  he  was  met  by  the  bitter  preju- 
dice held  by  the  Meccans  against  the  whole 
Jewish  race,  u  prejudice  which  kept  even 
Amzl  the  benevolent  from  bellevluf?  In  any- 
thing advocated  by  them. 

"  Why  do  they  not  show  Christ  In  their 
lives,  then?"  he  would  say. 

"  You  cannot  Judge  the  whole  Christian 
band  by  the  misdeeds  of  a  few,  who  are, 
indeed,  no  Christians,"  Y^usuf  ])leaded. 

"  True;  yet  a  religion  such  as  you  describe 
should  appeal  to  more  of  them,  and  would, 
If  it  were  all  you  Imagine  It  to  be.  A  per- 
fect religion  should  be  exemplified  in  the 
lives  of  those  who  profess  It." 

"  I  grant  you  that  that  Is  true,"  was  Yu- 
suf's  reply.  "  And  as  an  example  let  me 
bring  you  to  Nathan  and  his  family.  No- 
body could  talk  for  one  hour  to  them  without 
feeling  that  they  have  found,  at  least,  some- 
thing which  we  do  not  possess.  This  some- 
thing, they  say.  Is  their  God." 

"  Well,  well,  I  shall  do  so  to  please  you," 
said  Amzi  indifferently,  "  but  I  hope  that  a 
longer  acquaintance  may  not  spoil  your  trust 
in  these  pec     \" 

Further  e:  ^ostulation  was  vain.  Yusuf  re- 
tired to  his  own  apartment,  and  prayed  long 
and  fervently,  in  his  own  simple  way,  offer 
Ing  thanks  for  the  light  which  was  breaking 
so  radiantly  on  his  own  soul,  and  beseeching 
the  loving  Jesus  to  touch  the  heart  of  Amzi. 
who,  he  knew,  though  less  enthusiastic  than 
he,  also  deolred  to  know  truth.  r  ^r 

And  before  he  lay  down  for  a  short  rest, 
he  said: 

"  Grant,  O  Jesus,  thou  who  art  ever  pres- 
ent, that  I  may  know  thee  better,  and  that 
Amzi,  too,  may  learn  to  know  thee.    Reveal 


thyself  to  him  as  thou  art  revealing  thyself 
to  me.  that  we  may  know  thee  qh  we 
Hho\dd."' 

The  priest's  face  grew  radiant  with  happi- 
ness as  he  concluded. 

And  yet,  In  that  same  city,  vice  held  sway; 
for,  even  as  th»»  priest  prayed,  a  dark  tlgure 
emerged  from  an  unused  upi)er  attic  In  the 
house  of  Nathan  the  Jew.  and,  escaping  by  a 
window,  descended  a  garden  stoir  and 
disappeareil  in  the  darknews.  Even  in  that 
dim  light,  had  one  h)oked  he  might  have 
n(tt«'d  that  the  mysterious  prowler  wore  the 
dress  of  a  dervish. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

YUSUF'S  FIRST  MEETING  WITH  MOHAMMED. 

"  A  person  with  abnormal  auditory  sensations  often 
comes  tn  interpret  them  us  voices  of  demons,  or  as  tbe 
voice  of  one  commanding  blm  to  do  some  deed.  This 
bulluclnation.  in  turn,  becomes  an  apperceivinh  organ, 
i.  e.,  other  perceptions  and  ideas  are  assimilated  to  it: 
it  becomes  a  center  about  which  many  ideas  gather 
and  are  correspondingly  distorted."— .i/ci^/tan,  Psy- 
chology 

%^     "^W         '^vPON   the   evening   of 
^v  ^t    ™  M    the     following     day, 

Amzl  and  Yusuf  set 
out  in  quest  of  Mo- 
hammed, to  whom 
the  manuscript  had 
not  yet  been  given. 
Stopping  at  the 
house  of  Cadljah,  a 
stone  building  having 
some  pretensions  to 
grandeur,  they  learned 
that  Mohammed  had  left 
the  city.  Accordingly,  thinking  he  would 
probably  be  found  in  the  Cave  of  Hira,  they 
took  a  by-path  towards  the  mountains. 

The  sun  was  hot,  but  a  pleasant  breeze 
blew  from  the  plains  towards  the  Nejd,  and, 
from  the  elevation  which  they  now  ascended, 
Yusuf  noted  with  Interest  a  scene  every 
IK)int  of  which  was  entirely  different  from 
that  of  his  Persian  home— different  perhaps 
from  that  of  any  other  spot  on  the  face  of 
the  earth;  a  scene  desolate,  wild,  and  barren, 


I! 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


21 


yet  destinort  to  be  the  ornrile  of  a  mljrhty  quite  visible.  Ytisuf  had  observed  the  jfrent 
movemoijt  that  was  ere  long  to  agitate  the  Hystein  of  barter,  the  buyluR  and  HelllnR  that 
entire  peninsula  o**  Arabia,  and  eventually  went  on  beneath  the  roof  of  that  long  por- 
to  exereiHe  ItM  baneful  Infliience  over  a  great  tleo,  within  the  vei'y  precincts  of  the  temple 
part  of  the  Eastern  Hem- 
isphere.* 

Below  him  lay  the  long, 
narrow,  sandy  valiey.  No 
friendly  group  of  pnhns 
arose  to  break  Its  d  eary 
monotony;  no  green  luing, 
save  a  few  parched  aloes, 
was  there  to  form  a  pleas- 
ant resting  -  place  for  the 
eye.  The  passes  below, 
those  ever  -  populous  roads 
leading  to  the  Nejd,  Syria, 
Jeddah,  and  Arabla-Fell.v, 
were  crowded  with  people; 
yet,  even  their  presence 
did  not  suffice  to  remove 
the  air  of  deadness  from 
the  scene.  Of  one  thing 
only  could  the  beholder  be 
really  conscious  —  desola- 
tion, desolation;  a  desolate 
city  surrounded  by  huge, 
bare.  sk(>leton  -  lllce  moun- 
tains, grim  old  Abu  Ku- 
bays  with  the  city  stretch- 
ing half  way  up  Its 
gloomy  side,  on  the  east; 
the  Red  mountain  on  the 
west;  Jebel  Kara  toward 
Tayf.  and  Jebel  Thaur 
with  Jebel  Jiyad  the 
Greater,  on  the  south. 

Yusuf  watched  the  peo- 
ple, many  of  whom  were 
pilgrims,  swarming  like  so 
many     ants     below     him 
towards  the  Caaba,  vrhich 
was  in  full  view,  standing 
like  a  huge  sarcophagus  In  tlie  center  of  the 
great  courtyard.    In  the  transparent  air  of 
the  Orient,  even  the  pillars  supporting  the 
covered  portico  about  the   courtyard  were 

*  By  the  Intest  statistics  the  number  of  Mohamme- 
dans now  scattered  throughout  Asia,  Africa,  and  the 
south-eastern  part  of  Europe  amounts  to  some  176,- 
834,372. 


"  Read,  O  Mohammed,  and  see  him  who  was  able  to  restore  the  withered 

hand."— See  pajfc  23. 


set  apart  for  the  worship  of  the  Deity,  and. 
as  he  watched  the  pigmy  creatures,  now 
swarming  towards  the  trading  stalls,  now 
hastening  to  perform  Tawaf  about  the  tem- 
ple, he  almost  wept  tliat  such  sacrilege 
should  exist,  and  a  great  throb  of  pity  for 
these  erring  people  whose  spiritual   nature 


11 


it 


n 


hi 


^>r. 


ir 


22 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


f: 


■  i^ 


was  barren  as  the  vast,  treeless,  vcrdureless 
waste  about  them,  filled  his  breast. 

Am;;!  directed  his  attention  towards  the 
east,  where  the  blue  mountains  of  Tayf  stood 
like  outposts  la  the  distance. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  at  but  a  three  days' 
Journey  is  the  district  of  plenty,  the  Canaan 
of  Mecca,  whence  come  the  grapes,  melons, 
cucumbers,  and  pomegranates  that  are  to  be 
seen  In  our  markets.  There  are  pleasant 
dales  and  gardens  where  the  camel-thorn 
gives  way  to  a  carpet  of  verdure;  where  the 
mlmos..  and  acacia  give  place  to  the  glossy- 
leaved  flg-tree,  to  stately  palms,  and  pome- 
granates of  the  scarlet  fruit;  where  rippling 
streams  are  heard,  and  the  songs  of  birds  fill 
the  air.  -  There  is  a  tradition  that  Adam, 
when  driven  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  set- 
tled at  Mecca;  and  there,  on  the  site  of  the 
temple  yonder,  and  Immediately  beneath  a 
flittering  temple  of  pearly  cloud,  shimmer- 
ing dews,  and  rainbow  lights  said  to  be  in 
Paradise  above,— the  Balt-el  Maamur  of 
Heaven,— was  built,  by  the  help  of  angels, 
the  first  Caaba,  a  resplendent  temple  with 
pillars  of  jasper  and  roof  of  ruby.  Adam 
then  compassed  the  temple  seven  times,  as 
the  angels  did  the  Batt  above  in  perpetual 
Tawaf  He  then  prayed  for  a  bit  of  fertile 
land,  and  immediately  a  mountr.in  from 
Syria  appeared,  performed  Tawaf  round  the 
Caaba,  and  then  settled  down  yonder  at 
Tayf.  Hence,  Tayf  is  ven  yet  called  '  Kita 
mln  el  Sham  '—a  piece  of  Syria,  the  father- 
land." 

"  So  then,  this  Caaba,  according  to  tra- 
dition. Is  of  early  origin?" 

"  The  Arabs  believe  that  when  the  earthly 
Bait-el  Maamur  was  taken  to  heaven  at 
Adam's  death,  a  third  one  was  built  of  stone 
and  mud  by  Seth.  This  was  swept  away  by 
the  Deluge,  but  the  Black  Stone  was  kept 
safe  In  Abu  Kubays.  which  is,  therefore, 
called  '  El  Amin  "— t'  e  Honest.  After  the 
fiood,  a  fourth  House  was  built  by  our 
father  Abraham,  to  whom  the  angel 
Gabriel  restored  the  stone.  Abraham's  build- 
ing was  repaired  and  In  part  restored  by  the 
Amalikah  tribe.  A  sixth  Caaba  was  built 
by  the  children  of  Kahtan,  Into  whoae  tribe, 


say  the  Arabs,  Ismail  was  married.  The 
seventh  house  was  built  by  Kusay  bin  Kilab, 
a  forefather  of  Mohammed,  and  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  was  the  first  vvho 
filled  It  with  the  idols  which  now  disgrace 
its  walls.  Kusay's  house  was  burnt,  its  cloth 
covering  (or  kiswah)  catching  fire  from  a 
torch.  It  was  rebuilt  by  the  Koreish 
(Qurftis)  a  few  years  ago.  It  was  then  thai 
the  door  was  placed  high  above  the  ground, 
as  you  see  It,  and  then  that  the  movable  stair 
was  constructed.  Then,  too,  the  six  columns 
which  support  the  roof  were  added,  and 
Mohammed,  El  Amin,  was  chosen  to  deter- 
mine the  position  of  the  Black  Stone  in  the 
wall.  So,  friend,  I  have  now  given  you  In 
part,  the  history  of  the  Caaba." 

Bestowing  a  last  look  upon  the  temple,  the 
friends  walked  for  some  distance  northward 
across  the  slopes  of  Mount  Hira,  until  a  low, 
dark  opening  appeared  in  the  face  of  a  rock. 

Drawing  back  a  thorny  bush  from  its  door, 
they  entered  the  cave.  A  low  moaning  noise 
sound  d  within.  For  a  moment,  the  tran- 
sition from  the  white  glare  without  to  the 
twUigiit  of  the  cave  blinded  them,  then 
they  saw  that  the  moans  proceeded  from 
Mohammed,  who  was  lying  on  his  back  on 
the  stone  floor.  His  head-dress  was  awry, 
his  face  was  purple,  and  froth  Issued  from 
his  mouth. 

Amzl  seized  an  earthen  vessel  of  water, 
and' bathed  his  brow,  r       '         .  .'         ?   ■ 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  said,  "how  often  he 
may  have  sufferi^d  here  alone!  It  has  been 
his  custom  for  years  to  spend  the  holy  month 
of  Ramadhan  here  in  prayer  and  meditation. 
He  has  often  taken  these  fits  before;  but.  If 
what  is  said  be  true,  he  knows  not  that  he  is 
suffering,  for  angels  appear  to  lilm  dui'ing 
the  paroxysms."  ?         -■ -Wi>t  " -vriW- 

"  It  seems  to  me  much  more  like  a  fit  of 
epilepsy,"  said  Yusuf.  rather  sarcastically. 
"  See,  he  begins  to  come  to  himself  again." 

Mohammed  had  stopped  moaning,  and  his 
face  began  to  regain  its  natural  color. 

Presently  he  opened  his  eyes  In  a  dazed 
way,  and  sat  up.  He  was  a  man  of  middle 
height,  with  a  ruddy,  rather  florid  com- 
plexion,  a  high  forehead,   and  very  even, 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


23 


white  teeth.  There  was  something  com- 
manding and  dignified  in  hi«  appearance.  He 
wore  a  bushy  beard,  and  was  habited  in  a 
striped  cotton  gown  of  cloth  of  Yemen;  and, 
from  his  person  emanated  the  sweet  odor  of 
choicest  perfumes  of  the  Nejd  and  Arabia- 
Felix. 

"Ah,  it  is  Amzi!"  he  said.  "Pardon  me, 
friend,  but  the  angel  has  just  left  me,  and  I 
failed  to  recognize  you  at  once,  my  mind  was 
so  occupied  with  the  wonder  of  his  communi- 
cations; for,  friend,  the  time  is  nigh,  even  at 
hand,  when  the  prophet  of  Allah,  the  One, 
the  only  Person  of  the  Godhead,  is  to  be  pro- 
claimed!" 

His  voice  was  low  and  musical,  and  he 
spoke  as  one  under  the  influence  of  an  in- 
spiration. 

"  Has  the  angel  appeared  to  you  in  visible 
form?"  -    . 

"  Sometimes  he  appears  in  human  form, 
but  in  a  blinding  light;  at  other  times  I  hear 
a  sound  as  of  a  silver  bell  tinlding  afar. 
Then  I  bear  no  words,  but  the  truth  sinlis 
upon  my  soul,  and  burns  itself  into  my 
brain,  and  I  feel  that  the  angel  spealts." 

"Of  what,  then,  has  he  spoken?"  asked 
Amzi. 

"  The  time  in  which  the  full  revelation 
shall  be  thrown  open  to  man  is  not  yet.  But 
it  will  come  ere  long.  None,  heretofore,  save 
my  own  kin  and  friends,  have  been  given 
aught  of  the  great  message;  yet  to  you. 
Amzi,  may  I  say  that  Abraham,  Moses. 
Christ,  have  all  been  servants  of  the  true 
God.  yet  for  Mohammed  has  been  reserved 
the  honor  of  casting  out  the  idolatry  with 
which  the  worship  of  our  people  reeks.  For 
him  is  destined  the  glory  of  purging  our 
Caaba  of  its  images,  and  of  reinstating  the 
true  religion  of  our  fathers  in  this  fair  land. 
Then  shall  men  know  that  Allah  is  the  one 
Goo,  and  Mohammed  Is  his  prophet!" 

"  Think  you  to  place  yourself  on  an 
equality  with  the  Son  of  God?"  cried  Yusuf, 
sternly. 

Mohammed  turned  quickly  upon  him,  and 
his  face  worked  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement. 

"  I  tell  you  there  is,  but  one  God,— one  in- 
visible, eternal  God,  Allah  above  all  in  earth 


and  hea  en,— and  Mohammed  is  the  prophet 
of  God!"  he  cried. 

Yusuf  perceived  that  he  had  to  deal  with 
a  fanatic,  a  religious  enthusiast,  who  would 
not  be  reasoned  with. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  may  it  be  Moham- 
med's privilege  to  lead  men  back  to  truth, 
and  to  turn  them  from  heathendom;  to  teach 
them  to  be  wise  as  serpents,  harmless  as 
doves,  and  to  show  them  how  to  walk  with 
clean  hands  and  hearts  through  the  earth, 
living  uprightly  in  the  sight  of  all  men!" 

"  Yet,"  ventured  Yusuf.  "  did  not  Jesua 
teach  something  of  this?" 

"  Jesus  was  great  and  good,"  said  Moham- 
med; "  he  was  needed  in  his  day  upon  the 
earth,  but  men  have  fallen  away  again,  and 
Mohammed  is  the  greatest  and  last,  the 
prophet  of  Allah!" 

The  speakei*'s  eyes  were  flashing;  he  was 
yet  under  the  Influence  of  an  overpowering 
excitement.  The  color  began  to  rush  to  his 
face,  find  iusuf,  fearing  a  return  of  the 
swoon,  deemed  it  wise  not  to  prolong  the  ar- 
gument, but  delivered  the  manuscript  left  by 
the  peddler,  saying: 

"  Read,  O  Mohammed,  and  see  him  who 
was  able  to  restore  the  withered  hand 
stretched  forth  in  faith.  Perceive  him,  and 
commit  not  this  sacrilege." 

Trusting  himself  to  say  no  more,  Yusuf 
hastily  left  the  cavern,  followed  by  Amzi, 
who  remarked,  thoughtfully:   •'         .ii         ' 

"  Yet,  there  is  much  good,  too,  in  that 
which  jNIohammed  would  advocate." 

"  There  is,"  assented  Yusuf.  "  Yet,  though 
I  know  not  why,  I  cannot  trust  this  man. 
'Tis  an  instinct,  if  you  will.  What,  think 
you,  does  he  mean  to  win  by  this  procedure, 
—power,  or  esteem,  or  fame?" 

Amzi  sliook  his  head  quickly  in  denial. 
"  Mohammed  is  one  of  the  most  upright  of 
men,  one  of  the  last  to  seek  personal  favor  or 
distinction  by  dishonest  means,  one  of  the 
last  to  be  a  maker  of  lies.  Verily,  Yusuf,  I 
know  not  what  to  think  of  his  revelations.  If 
he  does  not  In  truth  see  these  visions,  he  at 
least  imagines  he  does.  He  is  honest  in 
what  he  says." 

"*If   he   does    not   In   truth'!"    repeated 


ss 


sx 


24 


THE  DAY8  OF  MOHAMMED. 


u 


Yusuf.  "  Surely  you,  Anial,  have  no  con- 
fidence in  his  visions  V  * 

Amzi  smiled.  "  And  yet  Yusuf,  no  longer 
apo  than  last  night,  was  ready  to  believe  the 
testimony  of  a  pauper  Jew  in  regard  to  simi- 
lar assertions,"  he  said.  "  But  keep  your 
mind  easy,  friend;  I  have  not  accepted  Mo- 
hammed's claims.  I  am  open  to  conviction 
yet,  and  I  am  not  hasty  to  believe.  In  fact,  I 
must  confess,  Yusuf,  an  entire  lack  of  that 
fervor,  of  that  capacity  for  religious  feeling, 
which  is  so  marked  a  trait  in  my  Persian 
priest." 

"  Yet  you,  too,  professed  to  be  a  seeker 
for  truth,"  said  Yusuf.  reproachfully.       V 

"  My  desire  for  truth  is  simply  to  know  it 
for  the  mere  sake  of  knowing  it,"  said  Amzi. 

Yusuf  sighed.  He  did  not  realise  that  he 
had  to  deal  with  a  peculiar  nature,  one  of 
the  hardest  to  impress  in  spiritual  things— 
the  indifferent,  calculating  mind,  which  is 
more  than  half  satisfied  with  moral  virtue, 
not  realizing  the  infinitely  higher,  nobler, 
happier  life  that  comes  from  the  inspiration 
of  a  constant  comi)anionship  with  (lod. 

"  Alas,  I  am  but  a  poor  teacher,  Amzi,"  he 
said.  "  You  know,  perhaps,  more  of  the  doc- 
tiines  of  these  Christians  than  I;  yet  I  am 
conv'nced  that  to  me  has  come  a  blessing 
which  you  lack,  and  I  would  fain  you  had  it 
too.  And  I  know  so  little  that  it  seems  I  can- 
not help  you.  \ou  will,  at  least,  come  and 
talk  with  Nathan?"  unvi    i 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Amzi.  In  a  half -banter- 
ing tone.  "  Prove  to  me  that  these  Hebrews 
are  infallible,  and  I  shall  half  accept  their 
Jewish  philosophy."       i  T   ,^!frr  lf^|?    -;v  ■- f   f 

*  You  cannot  expect  to  find  them  or  any 
one  on  this  earth  infallible,"  returned  Yusuf, 
quietly.  "  I  can  only  promise  that  you  will 
find  in  them  quiet,  sincere,  upright  Chris- 
tians." 

They  had  reached  a  sudden  turn  on  the 
path,  and  before  them,  on  the  top  of  a  steep 
cliff,  stood  Dumah,  with  his  fair  hair  stream- 
ing in  the  sunshine.  He  was  singing,  and 
they  paused  to  listen. 

"  He  Is  gone,  the  noble,  the  handsome, 
And  the  tenrs  of  the  mother  are  falling 
Like  dew3  from  the  cup  of  the  Illy 
When  it  bends  Its  head  in  the  darkness." 


"Poor  Dumah!"  said  Amzi  "singing  his 
thoughts  as  usual.  V/hat  uow,  Dumah  V 
Who  is  weeping?" 

"A  poor  Jewess,"  said  the  boy,  "and  her 
two  children  cling  to  her  gown  and  weep  too. 
Ah,  if  Dumah  had  power  he  would  soon  set 
him  free." 

"  Set  whom  free?"  asked  Yusuf. 

"  The  father;  they  say  he  took  the  cup  to 
buy  bread;  but  for  the  sake  of  *he  children, 
Dumah  would  set  him  free."      tt  iv.,:,,- y.,,  ■:■ 

"  Oh,  it  is  only  a  case  of  stealing  down  in 
the  Jewish  quarter,"  said  Amzi,  carelessly. 

"  Yet,"  returned  the  other,  *'  a  weeping 
mother  and  helpless  children  should  appeal 
to  the  heart  of  Amzi  the  benevolent.  Let  us 
turn  aside  and  see  what  it  is  about.  Dumah, 
lead  us." 

They  followed  the  boy  to  the  hall  or  court- 
room of  the  city.  A  judge  sat  on  a  raised 
dais;  witnesses  were  below,  and  the  owner 
of  the  gold  cup  was  talking  excitedly  and 
calling  loudly  for  justice. 

"  There  is  the  culprit,"  whispered  Amzi. 

Yusuf  was  struck  dumb.  It  was  Nathan, 
the  Christian  Jew!  Agony  was  written  in 
his  face,  yet  there  was  patience  in  it  too. 
His  arms  were  bound,  and  his  head  was  bent 
in  what  might  have  been  interpreted  as  hu- 
miliation. 

"  Once  more,"  cried  the  judge,  "  have  you 
aught  to  say  for  yourself,  Jew?" 

Nathan  raised  his  head  proudly,  and  looked 
the  judge  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  am  guiltless,"  he  said,  in  low,  firm 
tones. 

A  murmur  burst  from  the  crowd,  and  ex- 
clamations could  be  heard. 

*'  Not  guilty!  And  the  cup  found  in  his 
house!" 

"  Coward  dog!    Will  he  not  yet  confess?" 

"The  scourge  is  too  good  for  him!" 

"  Have  you  no  explanation  to  offer?"  asked 
the  judge. 

"  None." 

"  Then,  guards,  place  him  in  irons  to  await 
our  further  pleasure.  In  the  meantime  forty 
lashes  of  the  scourge.    Next!" 

Nathan  walked  out  with  firm  step  and 
head  erect.    A  low  sob  burst  from  some  one 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


25 


in  the  crowd.  It  was  the  wife  of  Nathan, 
weeping,  while  little  Mauasseh  and  Mary 
clung  to  her  weeping  too. 

Yusuf  touched  her  on  the  arm.  "  Hush! 
Be  calm!"  he  said.  "  All  will  yet  be  well.  I, 
for  one,  Itnow  that  he  is  innocent,  and  I  will 
not  rest  until  he  i«  free." 

"Tliank  God!  He  has  not  forsaken  us!" 
exclaimed  the  woman. 

Yusuf  put  a  piece  of  money  into 
Manasseh's  hand.  "  Here,  take  ycmr  mother 
home,  and  buy  some  bread,"  he  said. 

"  And  here,  pretty  lad.  know  you  the  touch 
of  gold?"  said  Amzi,  as  he  slipped  another 
coin  into  the  child's  hand.  "  Now.  Yusuf." 
he  went  on,  "  come,  let  us  see  your  .fewish 
friends  of  yester-even." 

"  Alas,  Amzi,  these  are  they,"  returned  the 
priest,  sadly,  "  and  I  fear  yon  poor  woman 
feels  little  like  talking  to  us  in  the  freshness 
of  her  grief." 

Amzi  laughed,  mysteriously.  "  So  your 
teacher  has  proved  but  a  common  Jew 
thief,"  he  said.  ,.;>;  i  ;  .  .  . .    ,  :  ';  ,«:  ■    w: 

Yusuf  turned  almost  fiercely.  "  Do  you  be- 
lieve this  vile  story?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Did 
you  not  see  truth  stamped  upon  Nathan's 
face?"  f    . 

"  You  must  admit  that  circumstances  are 
against  him.    The  proof  seems  conclusive." 

"  I  will  never  believe  it.  wei*e  the  proof 
produced  by  their  machinations  ten  times  as 
conclusive!  There  is  some  mystery  here 
which  I  will  unravel!" 

"  My  poor  Yusuf,  you  are  too  credulous  iu 
respect  to  these  people.  So  be  it.  You  be- 
lieve in  your  Jews,  1  shall  believe  in  my 
Mohammed,  until  the  tale  told  is  a  different 
one,"  laughed  Amzi;  and  for  the  moment 
Yusuf  felt  helpless. 

-•-&  'ih   :>lvci-\   J')'  >••/■>;:'   •.-?;    ((;.i"V^)i 

-       ,-       -       •  -         -  -r—.'-Tr^r** 

CHAPTER  VII.  V^*nf  r 

YUSUF  STUDIES  THE  SCRIPTURES.— CON- 
NECTING EVENTS. 

"  Surely  un  humble  busbandnian  that  serveth  God 
is  better  tbaa  a  proud  philosopber  who,  neglecting 


himself,  is  occupied  in  studying  the  course  ot  the 
heavens."— -Thotnas  d  Kempis.  r    t  •  %. 

OR  many  weeks, 
even  months,  after 
this,  Yusuf's  life,  to 
one  who  knew  not  the 
workings  of  his  mind, 
seemed  colorless,  and 
filled  witii  a  monoton- 
ous round  of  never- 
varying  occupation.  Yet 
in  those  few  weeks  he 
lived  more  than  in  all 
his  life  before.  Life  is 
not  made  up  of  either  years  or  actions— t lie 
development  of  thought  and  character  is  the 
important  thing;  and  in  this  period  of  ap- 
parent waiting,  Yusuf  grew  and  developed 
in  the  light  of  his  new  understanding. 

He  read  and  thouglit  and  studied,  and  yet 
found  time  for  paying  some  attention  to 
outer  affair.s.  In  Persia  he  had  amassed  a 
considerable  fortune,  which  he  had  conveyed 
to  Mecca  in  the  form  of  jewels  sewn  into  his 
belt  and  into  the  seams  of  his  garments, 
hence  he  was  abundantly  able  to  pay  his 
way,  and  to  expend  something  in  charity; 
and  between  his  and  Amzi's  generosity  tlie 
family  of  Nathan  lacked  nothing. 

Yusuf  obtained  possession  of  parts  of  the 
Scriptures,  written  on  parchment,  and  spent 
every  morning  in  their  perusal,  ever  finding 
this  period  a  precious  feast  full  of  comfort- 
ing assurances,  and  hope-inspiring  promises. 
He  never  forgot  to  pray  for  Aiiizi,  to  whom 
he  often  read  and  expounded  passages  of 
Scripture,  without  being  able  to  notice  any 
apparent  effect  of  his  teaching. 

It  troubled  him  much  that  Amzi  lent  such 
a  willing  ear  to  Mohammed,  and  to  the  few 
fanatics  among  the  Hanifs  who  had  now 
professed  their  belief  In  this  self-proclaimed 
prophet  of  Allah.  It  seemed  marvelous  that 
a  man  of  Amzi's  wisdom  and  learning  should 
be  so  carried  away  by  such  a  flimsy  /doctrine 
as  that  which  Mohammed  now  began  to  pro- 
claim. Amzi  appeared  to  have  fallen  under 
the  spell  wnich  Mohammed  seemed  to  cast 
over  many  of  those  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact;  and,   though   he  acknowledged   no 


i:l' 


i.\- 


\ 


■^i..i..    .i,.<,,j>^i>.|iyMf»'.-Uiil>V<« 


26 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


belief  in  the  so-called  prophet,  neither  did  he 
profess  disbelief  in  him. 

Yusuf's  hapisiest  hours  were  those  spent  in 
the  little  Jewish  Christian  church,  a  poor, 
uncomfortable  building,  where  an  earnest 
handful  of  Jews,  who  were  nevertheless  firm 
believers  in  the  divinity  of  Christ,  met,  often 
in  secret,  always  in  fear  of  the  derisive 
Arabs,  for  prayer  and  study  of  the  Gospel. 
Araonji  these,  the  wife  of  Natlian  was  never 
absent. 

Yusuf  sought  untiringly  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery of  the  gold  cup.  Circumstantial  evi- 
dence was  certainly  against  Nathan.  Awad, 
a  rich  merchant  of  Mecca,  had  placed  the 
cup  near  a  window  in  his  house,  and  had  for- 
gotten to  remove  it  ere  retiring  for  the  night. 
A  short  time  before  dawn  he  had  heard  a 
noise  and  risen  to  see  what  it  was.  He  had 
gone  outside  just  in  time  to  see  a  figure  pass- 
ing hurriedly  across  a  small  field  near  his 
house.  Even  then  he  had  not  thought  of  the 
cup.  But  in  the  morning  it  was  missed,  and 
tracks  were  followed  from  the  window  as 
far  as  the  ruined  house  to  which  Nathan's 
family  had  gone  in  their  poverty.  The  house 
wa«  searched,  and  the  cup  was  found  hidden 
in  a  heap  of  rubbish  in  an  unused  apart- 
ment. 

Nathan  had  just  returned  with  little  save 
the  clothes  he  wore;  it  was  well  known  that 
his  wife  and  children  had  been  verging  on 
starvation,  and  the  public,  ever  ready  to 
judge,  formed  its  own  conclusion,  and  turned 
with  Nemesis  eye  upon  the  poor  Jew. 

No  clue  whatever  remained,  except  a  smaii 
carnelian,  which  Yusuf  found  afterwards 
upon  the  floor,  and  which  he  took  possession 
of  at  once.  For  hours  he  would  wander 
about,  hoping  to  find  some  trace  of  the  rob- 
ber, who,  he  firmly  believed,  had  fancied 
himself  followed  by  Awad,  and  had  hurriedly 
secreted  the  cup,  trusting  to  return  for  it 
later,  and  to  make  bis  escape  in  the  mean- 
time. 

All  this,  however,  did  not  help  poor 
Nathan,  who,  chained  and  fettered,  lan- 
guished in  a  close,  poorly-ventilated  cell, 
with  little  hope  of  deliverance.  Yusuf  knew 
the  rancor  of  the  Meccans  against  the  Jews, 


and  somewhat  feared  the  result,  yet  he  did 
not  give  up  hope. 

"  We  are  praying  for  him,"  Nathan's  wife 
would  say.  "  Nathan  and  Yusuf  are  praying 
too,  and  we  know  that  whatever  happens 
must  be  best,  since  God  has  willed  it  so  for 
us." 

Little  Manasseh  chafed  more  than  anyone 
at  the  long  suspense.    One  day  he  said: 

"  Mother,  my  name  means  blackness,  sor- 
row, or  something  like  that,  does  it  not? 
Why  did  you  call  me  Manasseh?  Was  it  to 
be  an  omen  of  my  life?" 

"  Forbid  that  it  should!"  the  mother  ex- 
claimed, passing  her  hand  lovingly  through 
his  waving  hair.  "  It  must  have  been  be- 
cause of  your  curls,  black  as  a  raven's  wing. 
Sorrow  will  not  be  always.  Joy  may  come 
soon;  but  if  not,  'at  eventide  it  shall  be 
light.' " 

"  Does  that  mean  in  heaven?"  he  asked. 

"  He  has  prepared  for  us  a  mansion  in  the 
heavens,  an  house  not  made  with  hands. 
'  There  shall  be  no  night  there,'  and  '  sorrow 
and  sighing  shall  fiee  away,' "  said  the 
mother  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  But  it  seems  so  long  to  wait,  mother," 
said  the  boy  impatiently. 

"  Yet  heaven  is  not  far  away,  Manasseh," 
she  returned,  quickly.  "  Heaven  is  wherever 
God  is.  And  have  we  not  him  with  us  al- 
ways? '  In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  him, 
and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths.'  Never  forget 
that,  Manasseh." 

"  Well,  I  wish  we  were  a  little  happier 
now,"  he  would  say;  and  then,  to  divert  the 
boy's  attention  from  his  present  troubles,  his 
mother  would  tell  him  about  her  happy  home 
in  Palestine,  where  she  and  her  little  sister, 
Lois,  had  watched  their  sheep  on  the  green 
hillsides,  and  woven  chains  of  flowers  to  put 
about  the  neck  of  their  pet  lamb;  of  how 
they  grew  up,  and  Lois  married  the  Bedouin 
Musa,  and  had  gone  far  away. 

Thus  far,  Yusuf  knew  nothing  of  this  con- 
nection of  Nathan's  family  with  his  Bedouin 
friends.  It  was  yet  to  prove  another  link  in 
the  chain  which  was  binding  him  so  closely 
to  this  godly  family.  His  many  occupa- 
tions, and  the  feeling  which  impelled  him  at  -^ 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


27 


'  every  spare  moment  to  seek  for  some  clue 
which  would  lead  to  Nathan's  liberation,  left 
him  little  time  for  conversation  with  them 
for  the  present,  except  to  see  that  their 
wants  were  supplied. 

Then,  too,  he  was  troubled  about  Amzi, 
and  somewhat  anxious  about  the  result  of 
Mohammed's  proclamations,  which  were 
now  beginning  to  be  noised  abroad.  From 
holding  meetings  in  caves  and  private 
houses,  the  "  prophet "  had  begun  to  preach 
on  the  streets,  and  from  the  top  of  the 
little  eminence  Sufa,  near  the  foot  of  Aba 
Kubays. 

Many  of  the  people  of  Mecca  held  him  up 
to  ridicule,  and  treated  his  declarations  with 
derisive  contempt.  Among  his  strongest  op- 
ponents were  his  own  kindred,  the  Koreish, 
of  the  line  of  Haschem  and  of  the  rival 
line  of  Abd  Schems.  The  head  of  the  latter 
tribe,  Abu  Sofian,  Mohammed's  uncle,  was 
especially  bitter.  He  was  a  formidable  foe, 
as  he  lived  in  the  highlands,  his  castles  being 
built  on  precipitous  rocks,  and  manned  by  a 
set  of  wild  and  savage  Arabs. 

Yet  Mohammed  went  on,  neither  daunted 
by  fear  nor  discouraged  by  sarcasm.  The 
number  of  his  followers  steadily  increased; 
his  first  converts,  Ali,  his  cousin,  and  Zeid, 
his  faithful  servant,  being  quiclily  joined  by 
many  others. 

Mohammed  now  boldly  proclaimed  the 
message  delivered  to  him  in  the  cave  of 
Hira  the  Koran.  He  declared  that  the  law 
of  Moses  had  given  way  to  the  Gospel,  and 
that  the  Gospel  was  now  to  give  way  to  the 
Ko'-an;  that  the  Savior  was  a  great  prophet, 
but  was  not  divine;  and  that  he,  Mohammed, 
was  to  be  the  last  and  greatest  of  all  the 
prophets. 

Such  assertions  were  usually  received  with 
shouts  of  derision;  and  y«t,  when  Moham- 
med eloquently  upheld  fairness  and  sin- 
cerity in  all  public  and  private  dealings,  and 
urged  the  giving  of  alms,  and  the  living  of  a 
pure  and  humble  life,  there  were  those  who. 
like  Amzi,  felt  that  there  was  something 
worthy  of  admiration  in  the  new  prophet's 
religion;  and  his  very  firmness  and  sincerity, 
even  when  8p«,t  upon,  and  covered  with  mud 


thrown  upon  him  as  he  prayed  In  tha 
Caaba,  won  for  him  friends. 

The  opposition  of  his  uncles,  Abu  Lahab 
and  Abu  Sofian,  was,  however,  carried  on 
witli  the  greatest  rancor;  and  at  last  a  decree 
was  issued  by  Abu  Sofian  forbidding  the 
tribe  of  the  Koreish  from  liaving  any  inter- 
course whatever  with  Mohammed.  This  de- 
cree was  written  on  parchment,  and  hung  up 
in  tlie  Caaba,  and  Mohammed  was  ulti- 
mately forced  to  flee  from  the  city.  He  and 
his  disciples  Avent  for  refuge  to  the  ravine  of 
Abu  Taleb,  at  some  distance  from  Mecca. 
Here  they  would  have  suffered  great  want, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  kindness  of  Amzi, 
who  managed  to  send  them  food  in  seciet. 

But  the  prophet's  zeal  never  flagged.  When 
the  Ramadhan  again  came  round,  and  it  was 
safe  to  venture  from  his  temporary  retreat, 
he  came  boldly  into  the  city,  preached  again 
from  the  hill  Safa.  and  proclaimed  his  new 
revelations,  praying  for  tlie  people,  and  end- 
ing every  prayer  with  the  declaration  now 
universal  throughout  the  Moslem  world,— 

"  God!  There  is  no  God  but  he,  the  ever- 
liviag!  He  sleepeth  not,  neither  doth  he 
slumber!  To  him  belong  the  heavens  and 
the  earth,  and  all  that  they  contain.  Who 
shall  intercede  with  him  unless  by  his  per- 
mission? His  sway  extendeth  over  the 
heavens  and  the  earth,  and  to  sustain  them 
both  is  no  burthen  to  liim.  He  is  the  High, 
the  Mighty!" 

The  sublimity  of  this  eulogy  of  the  Most 
High  may  be  readily  traced  to  the  psalms, 
particularly  to  that  grandest  of  all  songs,  the 
one  hundred  and  fourtli  psalm,  which  has 
been  said  to  be  remarkablfc  in  that  it  em- 
braces the  wliole  cosmos.  And.  in  fact,  tlie 
whole  trend  of  the  Koran  may  be  traced 
to  a  study  of  the  Bible,  particularly  to  the 
New  Testament,  with  occasional  digres- 
sions into  the  Mishnu,  and  the  Talmud  of 
the  Hebrews. 

"  Feed  the  hungry!  Visit  the  sick!  Bow 
not  to  idols!  Pray  con?  -^tly.  and  direct  thy 
prayers  immediately  to  the  Deity!"  These 
were  the  constant  exhortations  of  the 
prophet  during  these  first  days  of  his  min- 
iftry— exhortations   which   demand    the   ad- 


.  i' 


I 


28 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


|ttr 

li 
1 1 


miration  of  all  who  consider  the  grossnoss 
and  Idolatry  of  the  age  In  which  he  lived. 
Had  he  never  gone  further,  succeeding  ages 
might  have  been  tempted  to  pardon  his 
hallucinations.  At  the  time,  doctrines  which 
savored  of  so  much  magnanimity,  and  which 
were  immeasurably  in  advance  of  the  mocli- 
ery  of  religion  tliat  had  so  long  held  sway 
among  the  majority  of  the  Arabs,  at  once 
commended  tliemsolves  to  many.  The  effect 
of  the  new  teaching  was  enhanced  by  the 
burning  entluisiasm  and  powerful  oi*atory  of 
Moliammed.  who  was  not  ignorant  of  tlie 
effect  of  elotiuent  delivery  and  glowing 
language  on  a  people  ever  passionate  and 
keenly  susceptible  1o  the  influence  of  a 
stronjT  and  vivid  presentation. 

Ridicule  and  persecution  ceased  for  a  time, 
and  at  last,  when  the  decree  was  removed, 
Mohammed  and  his  followers  returned  In 
triumph  to  Mecca. 

Once  again  he  was  obliged  to  fly  for  his 
life.  Accompanied  by  Zeid,  he  went  to  Tayf , 
and  there  spent  a  month  in  its  perfumed 
vales,  wandering  by  cooling  streams,  medi- 
tating beneath  the  waving  fronds  of  the 
palm-trees,  or  resting  in  cool  gardens,  lulled 
by  the  rustling  leaves  of  the  nebeck  (the 
lotus-tree),  and  Inhaling  the  fresh  perfume 
of  peach  and  apple  blooms. 

But  the  Inhabitants  of  Tayf  grew  hostile, 
and  the  prophet  again  set  out  on  foot  for 
Mecca.  He  sat  down  to  rest  in  an  orchard. 
There  he  dreamed  that  a  host  of  genii  waited 
before  him,  begging  him  to  teach  them  EI 
Islam. 

In  the  night*  he  arose  and  proceeded,  with 
renewed  courage,  on  his  journey.  On  the 
way  he  fell  in  with  some  pilgrims  from 
Yathrib,  or  Medina,  and  to  them  he  unfolded 
his  revelations.  They  listened  spell-bound 
as  he  preached  from  Al  Akaba,  and  besought 
him  that  he  would  come  or  would  send  dis- 
ciples with  them  to  their  northern  town.  Ac- 
cordingly, Mohammed  chose  several  converts 
to  accompany  them  upon  this  first  mission, 
and  a  time  was  set  for  their  going. 

*  Moslems  assort  that  upon  this  night  Mohammed 
was  carried  through  the  seven  heavens  of  which  El 
Islam  tells. 


On  the  evening  preceding  this^  appointed 
time,  Yusuf  sat  in  a  hanging  i)alcony  of 
Amzi'3  house.  The  pink  flush  of  the  setting 
sun  was  over  the  sky;  the  murmur  of  the 
city  arose  with  a  subdued  hum—"  the  city's 
stilly  sound";  a  parchment  containing  a  part 
of  the  Scriptures  was  on  the  priest's  knee, 
but  he  stopped  reading  and  gave  himself  up 
to  meditation,  wondering  deeply  at  the 
strange  course  that  events  were  taking,  and 
surmising  vaguely  the  probable  result  of  the 
revolution  that  seemed  impending. 

His  thouglit«  tunied  to  Amzi,  who.  as  yet. 
closed  his  ears  to  the  Gospel  tidings  which 
were  proving  such  a  comfort  and  joy  to  the 
priest. 

A  step  sounded  behind  him.  It  was  Amzi 
himself,  attired  in  traveling  garb,  and  with 
his  camel-stick  already  in  his  hand,      ss .      , 

"  What  now,  friend  Yusuf?  Dreaming 
still?"  he  said.  "Will  you  not  say  farewell 
to  your  friend?" 

"What!  Are  you  going  on  a  journey? 
Pray,  where  goes  Amzi  on  such  short  no- 
tice?" 

"  Ah,"  smiled  Amzi,  "  I  almost  fear  to  tell 
my  Persian  proselyte,  lest  the  vials  of  his 
wi'ath  be  poured  on  my  defenseless  and  sub- 
missive head.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  I 
go  with  the  disciples  of  Mohammed  to 
Medina." 

"As  Mohammed's  disciple?  Amzi,  has  It 
come  to  this!"  exclaimed  the  priest. 

"  Chain  your  choler,  my  friend,"  laughed 
the  other.  "  I  merely  go  to  observe  the  out- 
come of  this  movement  in  the  town  of  the 
North.  Besides,  the  heat  of  Mecca  in  this 
season  oppresses  me,  and  I  long  for  the  cool 
breezes  of  Medina.  Yusuf,  I  shall  have  rare 
letters  to  write  you,  for  I  feel  that  there  will 
be  a  mighty  movement  in  favor  of  Moham- 
med there." 

"  You  begin  to  believe  in  him,  Amzi!"  said 
Yusuf  in  tones  of  deepest  concern. 

"  His  doctrines  suit  me,  as  containing 
many  noble  precepts.  His  proclamations  are 
moving  the  town  In  such  a  way  as  was  never 
known  heretofore." 

"  Consider  the  movement  caused  by  the 
teaching  o.  Christ  when  he  was  on  earth!" 


St 

1;; 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


29 


cried  Yusuf.  "  Dare  you  compare  this  petty 
tempest  with  that?" 

**  Yet  Christ's  very  words  have  been  here 
where  all  might  read  them,  for  lonj;  enough. 
Why  have  they  not  drawn  the  attention  of, 
and,  if  divine,  why  hav  they  not  shown 
their  power  among,  our  citizens?" 

"  Because  ye  have  eyes  that  see  not,  and 
ears  that  hear  not! '  cried  the  priest  impetu- 
ously. "  Can  you  not  see  that  the  doctrines 
of  the  Scriptures  are  just  those  which  Mo 
hamme<i  proclaims?  He  seizes  upon  theui, 
he  gives  them  as  his  own,  because  he  Ivuows 
they  are  good,  yet  he  commits  the  sacrilege 
of  posing  as  a  divine  agent!  Good  cannot 
come  out  of  this  except  in  so  far  as  a  few 
precepts  of  the  Gospel,  all  plagiarized  as  they 
are.  exert  their  Influence  upon  the  lives  of 
people." 

Amzi  looked  inconvincible.  "  I  gi*ant  tlie 
excellence  of  Gospel  teaching,"  he  said, 
"  but  your  conception  of  God's  love  I  cannot 
seem  to  feel,  often  as  you  have  explained  it 
to  me.  Mohammed's  revelations  appear 
plausible.  Yet,  look  not  so  doleful,  brother. 
Amzi  has  not  become  a  Mohammedan.  Ho 
Is  still  ready  to  believe  as  soon  as  he  can 
see." 

"Yes,  yes;  like  Thomas,  you  must  see  and 
feel  ere  you  will  believe.  God  grant  that  the 
seeing  and  feeling  may  not  come  too  late!" 

Amzi  smiled,  and  passed  his  arm  aflfec- 
tlonately  about  the  priest's  shoulder.  "  What 
a  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  you  is  Amzi  the 
benevolent,"  he  said,  kindly.  '*  Notwith- 
standing, give  me  your  blessing,  priest.  Give 
me  credit  for  being,  at  least,  honest,  and  bid 
me  good-speed  before  I  go." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  aught  but  blessing 
from  Yusuf  should  ever  follow  Amzi!"  re- 
turned the  other,  warmly.  "  May  heaven 
keep  and  direct  you,  my  friend,  my  brother!" 

The  friends  embraced,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  land,  and  separated;  Amzi  to  join 
the  half-naked  pilgrims,  who  had  not  yet 
donned  their  traveling-robes,  Yusuf  to  lift 
his  heart  to  Heaven,  as  he  now  did  in  every 
circums^^anee.  In  this  silent  talk  to  God  he 
received  comfort,  and  his  heart  was  filled 
with  hopfe  for  Amzi. 


Even  this  journey,  which  seemed  so  in- 
auspicious, might,  he  thought,  be  but  the  be- 
ginning of  a  happy  end.  He  had  learne<l 
that  there  are  no  trifles  in  life;  that  no  event 
is  so  inslgnittcant  that  (Jod  may  not  make 
use  of  It.  He  felt  that  Amzi  was  not  utterly 
Indifferent  to  the  influence  of  divine  power, 
so  he  waited  in  patience.    - 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

'  WHEREIN  IS  TOLD  THE  STORY  OP 
NATHAN'S  LIBERATION. 

"  The  winds,  as  at  their  hour  of  birth, 
Leaning  upon  the  ridged  sea. 
Breathed  low  around  the  rolling  earth 
With  mellow  preludes,  '  We  are  free.' " 

—Tennyaon. 


URING  all  this  time, 
there  was  no  news  of  re- 
lease for  poor  Nathan. 
In  his  close  cell,  venti- 
lated by  one  little  win- 
dow, and,  in  the  fetid 
otlor  of  its  air,  he  pined 
away.  A  low  fever  had 
rendered  him  exceed- 
ingly weak;  he  coiild 
not  eat  the  wretched 
food  of  the  prison;  his  face  grew  haggard, 
and  his  bones  shone  through  the  flesh  with 
almost  skeleton  -  like  distinctness.  Yet  no 
murmur  passed  his  lips. 

From  his  window,  set  high  in  the  wall,  he 
could  see  the  sun  as  it  rose  over  Abu 
Kubays;  he  could  catch  the  occasional  glint 
of  a  bright  wing  as  a  dove  or  a  swallow 
flitted  past  beneath  the  white  sky;  and  he 
said,  "  God  Is  still  good,  blessed  be  his 
name!" 

Yet  the  grief  of  being  separated  from  his 
loved  ones,  and  +he  uncertainty  of  their  wel- 
fare, preyed  upon  his  mind,  almost  shaking 
the  trust  which  had  upheld  him  so  long.  It 
was  a  time  of  trial  for  poor  Nathan,  yet  his 
faith  came  foi-th  from  the  trial  untarnished. 
Yusuf  souglit  in  vain  to  gain  admission  to 
the  poor  prisoner:  the  utmost  that  he  could 
accomplish   was   to   pay   the  attendant   for 


,1 H 
UK 


;t 


:-'! 


•,s. 


30 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


5 


'•<[  I 


carrying  one  brief  message  to  him,  assuring 
him  that  his  wife  and  children  were  well, 
and  cared  for.  i  4       * 

The  mystery  of  the  gold  cup  was  still  un- 
solved. One  day,  however,  when  going  down 
one  of  the  busieet  streets,  Yusuf  saw,  at 
some  distance,  a  little  man  wallilng  along 
with  a  pack  on  his  bncli.  The  peculiar  hop- 
ping motion  of  his  gait  proclaimed  him  at 
once  to  be  Abraham,  the  little  Jew. 

"  The  very  man!"  thought  Yusuf.  "  If  any 
one  between  Syria  and  Yemen  can  ferret  out 
a  mystery,  it  is  Abraham  the  peddler;  If  I 
can  once  set  him  In  earnest  upon  the  track, 
deliverance  may  be  speedy  for  poor 
Nathan." 

The  peddler  was  walking  very  rapidly,  but 
Yusuf  strode  after  h5m,  now  losing  sight  of 
him  in  the  ci'owd,  now  catching  a  glimpse  of 
hl«  little  bobbing  figure,  until,  out  of  breath, 
he  finally  reached  him  and  caught  his  arm. 

The  Jew  started  In  surprise.  "  Defend  us, 
friend!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  come  on  a 
man  like  the  poison-wind,  as  quickly  if  not 
as  deadly.  So  you  are  still  in  Mecca!  What 
are  you  doing  now?" 

He  was  as  inquisitive  as  ever,  but  Yusuf 
did  not  resent  the  trait  in  him  now. 

"  I  am  on  important  business  just  at  pres- 
ent, my  friend,"  he  said,  in  his  kindliest  tone, 
"  on  business  in  which  I  am  sure  Abraham 
the  Jew  can  help  me,  better  than  any  other 
man  in  Mecca." 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  the  peddler,  "  and  what 
may  that  be?" 

"  Can  you  keep  a  still  tongue  when  it  is 
necessary,  Jew?"      ;  -i..         j ;,  ,  ^   .:.^  ^,    •    :^ 

The  peddler  placed  his  fingers  on  his  lips, 
rolled  up  his  eyes,  and  nodded  assent. 

"  Then  come  with  me  to  the  house  of  Amzl 
the  benevolent,— my  Meccan  home,— and  I 
shall  explain." 

When  seated  comfortably  on  divans  In  the 
coolest  part  of  the  house,  Yusuf  told  the 
story  of  the  gold  cup,  aad  intimated  that 
Abraham's  wandeil^j  life  and  the  number- 
less throngs  of  people  with  whom  his  trade 
threw  him  in  contact,  gave  him  facilities, 
impossible  to  others,  of  doing  a  little  detec- 
tive work  in  a  quiet  way. 


The  Jew  listened,  silent  and  motionlesfi, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  lotus-bud  carved  on 
the  cornice.  Only  once  did  he  tura  and  fix 
his  little  round  eyes  sharply  on  the  priest's 
face. 

"  There  is  just  one  more  thing—"  continued 
Yusuf,  then  he  siopi>ed.  He  was  about  to 
tell  of  the  little  carnelian  stone,  when  his  eye 
fell  upon  one  of  the  numerous  rings  upon  the 
Jew's  fat  fingers.  There,  In  the  center  of  it, 
was  a  small  cavity  from  which,  ai)parently, 
a  jewel  of  some  sort  had  fallen  from  its  set- 
ting. 

Yusuf  almost  sprang  to  his  feet  in  the  ex- 
citement of  the  discovery. 

'Well?"  asked  the  Jew,  noting  the  pause. 

"  I  will  tell  you  later,"  said  Yusuf.  "  For 
the  present— have  some  dates,  will  you  not?" 

A  servant  entered  with  a  tray  on  which 
were  fruits  and  small  calces. 

The  peddler  besought  Yusuf,  for  friend- 
ship's sake,  to  eat  with  him;  but  the  Persian 
made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  I  have  already  eaten,"  he  said.  "  Over- 
eating in  Mecca  in  the  hot  season  is  not  wise. 
Abraham,  do  yor  always  wear  so  many 
rings  on  your  fingers?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  the  Jew,  "  sometimes  1 
wear  them;  sometimes  I  carry  them  for 
months  In  my  belt.  This "— pointing  to  a 
huge  band  of  ancient  workmanship—"  is  the 
most  curious  one  of  the  lot.  I  got  it  for 
carrying  a  bundle  of  manuscript  from  a  man 
at  Oman  to  your  friend  Amzl,  here.  It  seems 
that  Amzl  had  once  lived  with  him  at  Oman, 
but  the  man— I  forget  his  name — went  Inland 
to  Teheran,  or  some  other  place  in  Persia, 
and  Amzl,  after  traveling  about  for  two  or 
three  years,  settled  in  Mecca.  This  one  "— 
and  he  pointed  out  the  ring  on  which  Yusuf 's 
eyes  were  fixed—"  is  the  most  expensive  of 
the  lot,  but  a  stone  fell  out  of  it  once  when  I 
was  carrying  it  In  my  belt."  ^  ^ 

"  Did  you  not  look  In  your  belt  for  it?" 

"  No  use;  it  had  worked  out  between  the 
stitches.    I  had  no  idea  where  I  lost  it." 

"  Have  you  had  that  ring  long?" 

"  Long!  Why,  that  ring  has  not  been  off 
my  peraon  for  fifteen  years." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  not  sell  it?" 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


31 


The  peddler  shrugRed  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  up  with  n  shrewd  glance. 

"  That  depends  on  how  much  money  It 
would  bring." 

"  I  have  Uttle  Idea  of  the  value  of  such 
rings,"  said  the  Persian,  "  but  I  have  a 
friend  who,  I  am  convinced,  would  appre- 
ciate that  one.  I  should  like  to  present  it  to 
him.    Win  you  take  this  for  It?" 

He  drew  forth  a  coin  worth  three  times  the 
value  of  the  ring.  The  peddler  immediately 
closed  the  bargain  and  handed  the  ring  over, 
then  devoted  his  attention  again  to  the  table. 

The  priest  went  to  the  window.  He  drew 
the  little  stone  from  his  bosom  and  slipped 
It  Into  tlie  cavity.  It  fitted  exactly.  He  then 
walked  back  to  the  table,  and  held  It  before 
the  astonished  Jew. 

"How  now,  ,TeAV?"  he  said  with  a  smile. 
"  Saw  you  such  a  gem  before?" 

"My  very  own  carnelian!"  exclaimed  the 
peddler.    "  Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"  You  are  sure  It  is  yours?" 

"  Sure!  On  my  oath,  it  Is  mine.  There  is 
not  another  such  stone  in  Arabia,  with  that 
streak  across  the  top." 

The  priest  laid  his  hand  on  the  Jew's 
shoulder  and  bent  close  to  him.  "  That 
stone,"  he  said,  "  Avas  found  in  the  house  of 
Nathan  the  Jew,  beside  the  stolen  cup.  How 
came  it  there?" 

The  little  Jew  turned  pale.  His  guilt 
showed  In  his  face.  He  knew  that  he  was 
undone. 

With  a  quick,  serpent-like  movement,  he 
attempted  to  escape,  but  the  priest's  grasp 
was  firm  as  a  vise. 

"  No,  peddler!"  he  said,  "  you  may  go,  but 
It  must  be  with  me.  To  the  magistrate  you 
must  go,  and  that  right  speedily.  The  Inno- 
cent must  no  longer  suffer  In  your  rightful 
place.  Come,  Aza,"— to  an  attendant  who 
had  been  In  the  room— "your  tongue  may 
be  needed  to  supplement  mine." 

The  Jew's  little  eyes  rolled  around  rest- 
lessly. He  was  a  thorough  coward,  and  his 
teeth  chattered  with  fear  as  he  was  half- 
dragged  Into  the  blinding  glare  of  the  street, 
and  down  the  long,  crooked  way,  with  a 
crowd  of  beggars  and  saucy  boys  following 


In  tlie  wake  of  the  trio.  Once  or  twice  again 
he  made  a  quick  and  sudden  movement  to 
elude  the  grasp  of  his  captors,  but  the 
priest's  grip  was  firm  and  his  muscle  like 
steel.  Justice  was  in  Yusuf's  heart,  and  his 
anxiety  to  procure  Nathan's  release  was  so 
great  that  he  strode  on,  almost  forgetting  the 
poor  little  Jew,  who  was  obliged  to  keep  up 
a  constant  hobbling  rim  to  save  himself 
from  being  dragged  to  the  ground. 

In  the  hall  of  justice  the  usual  amount  of 
questioning  went  on,  but  the  evidence 
afforded  by  the  ring  was  so  conclusive  that 
the  order  for  Nathan's  release  and  the  ped- 
dler's Imprisonment  was  soon  given. 

Yusuf  accompanied  the  guards  to  Na- 
than's ceil.  The  poor  prisoner  was  sitting 
on  the  bare  clay  with  his  head  burled  on  his 
knee.  An  unusual  clamor  sounded  outside 
of  the  door.  The  heavy  bolt  was  with- 
drawn, and  the  next  moment  Yusuf  rushed 
In.  crying,  "  Free,  Nathan,  free!" 

Nathan  fell  on  the  other's  bosom.  The 
sudden  Joy  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
could  only  lie,  like  a  little  child,  sobbing  on 
the  breast  of  the  stalwart  priest. 

The  warden  rattled  the  bolts  impatiently. 
"  Come,  there's  room  outside!"  he  said.  "  I 
have  not  time  to  stand  here  all  day!" 

"  Pardon  us."  said  the  priest,  gently.  "  We 
go;  yet.  warden,  ere  we  depart,  may  I  ask 
you  to  deal  leniently  with  that  poor 
wretch?"  and  he  pointed  to  the  Jew.  who 
was  now  crouched  shivering  in  his  chains. 

"  We  but  do  as  we  are  ordered,"  returned 
the  warden  unfeelingly.  "  The  officers  will 
be  here  presently  with  the  scourge;  we  can 
not  prevent  that." 

The  peddler  winced,  and  Nathan  raised  a 
face  full  of  pity.  "Warden,"  he  said,  "if 
you  have  a  drop  of  mercy  in  your  heart.  If 
you  hope  for  mercy  for  yourself,  treat  him 
as  a  man.  Let  him  not  die  for  want  of  a 
pittance  of  water." 

He  turned  the  sleeve  of  his  loose  garment 
back  to  expose  the  emaciated  arm  with  the 
bones  showing  through  the  loose  skin. 
"  There,"  he  said,  "  let  that  touch  your 
heart,  If  heart  you  have,  and  spare  him. 
Poor  Abraham!"— turning  to  the  peddler— 


I- 


32 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


i' 


» 


"  <li(l  I  not  see  you  here,  the  Joy  of  my 
relense  wouhl  be  tiriHpeakable." 

But  Abraham  only  turned  to  bestow  a 
look  of  hate  and  malice  upon  the  priest. 

Then  YuHUf  and  Nathan  passed  out  into 
the  pure,  fresh  air,  now  flowing  cool  with 
the  approach  of  evening.  Never  did  air 
seem  80  pure  and  sweet;  never  did  swallows 
twitter  so  gladly;  never  dUl  (he  peak  of  Abu 
Kubays  shine  so  gloriously  In  the  sun; 
never  d!i  the  voices  of  people  sound  so  joy- 
ous or  their  faces  beam  so  brightly. 

"  Come,"  said  Nathan,  "  to  my  wife  and 
children,  that  we  may  all  return  thanks  to- 
gether. Verily  *  Many  are  the  afflictions  of 
the  righteous,  but  the  Lord  debvereth  hhn 
out  of  them  all.'  *  Blessed  be  (Jod.  which 
hath  not  turned  away  my  prayer,  nor  his 
mercy  from  me.'  *  I  had  fainted  unless  T 
had  believed  to  see  the  goodness  of  the  Lord 
In  the  land  of  the  living.'  *  My  flesh  falleth. 
but  God  is  the  strength  of  my  heart,  and  my 
portion  forever.'  " 

So,  uttering  exclamations  from  the  pages 
of  Scripture,  did  the  devout  .Tew  pass  on- 
ward to  his  home,  vhlcli  was  once  more 
filled  with  "joy  and  gladness,  thanksgiving 
and  the  voice  of  melody."  Before  leaving. 
Yu3Uf  presented  him  with  the  ring  con- 
taining the  little  stone,  as  a  memento  of  his 
deliverance. 

And  Abraham?  He  received  the  full 
weiglit  of  the  scourge;  and  may  we  be  par- 
doned In  anticipating,  and  say  that  for  two 
days  he  lay  nursing  his  wrath  and  liis 
wounds;  but,  on  the  third  day  after  his  im- 
prisonment, his  agility  suddenly  retiu'ued. 
He  managed  In  some  inexplicable  way 
known  only  to  himself  to  work  free  of  his 
fetters,  and  when  the  keeper  came  with 
food  In  the  evening,  blinded  by  the  dim  light 
of  the  cell,  he  did  not  perceive  the  little  ped- 
dler crouched  in  a  heap  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

Scarcely  was  the  door  oi)ened  wJien  the 
Jew  bounced  like  a  ball  past  the  keeper's 
feet,  almost  upsetting  him;  tlien,  darting  like 
an  arrow  between  \  the  astonished  guards 
without,  he  was  oflP.  A  hue  and  cry  was 
raised,    but    the    little    peddler    had    disap- 


peared as  completely  as  If  the  earth  bad 
opened  up  and  swallowed  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AMZI    AT    MEDINA. 

"  With  balf-sbut  eyes  ever  to  aeem 
Fulling  asleep  iu  a  half  dream! 
To  dreum  and  dream  like  yonder  amber  light 

Which  will  not  leave  the 
myrrh  bush  on  the 
height"       —Teimyaon. 


ITHOUUT  entering 
into  detail  it  may  be 
briefly  stated  that 
tlie  success  of  Mo- 
hammed's disciples 
in  Medina  was 
simply  marvelous. 
Converts  Joined 
the  m  every  day, 
while  those  who 
were  not  prepared  to 
believe  In  the  Mecean's  divine  mission  were 
at  least  anxious  to  see  and  hear  the  prophet. 
Amzi  did  no  work  in  behalf  of  the  new 
religion.  He  was  simply  an  onlooker, 
though  not  an  unsympathetic  one;  and,  It 
must  be  confessed,  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
in  that  voluptuous  do-nothingness  In  which 
the  wealthy  Oriental  dreams  away  so  much 
of  his  time,— sitting  or  reclining  on  per- 
fumed cushions,  a  fan  in  his  hand  and  a 
long  pipe  at  his  mouth,  too  languid,  too  list- 
less, even  to  talk;  listening  to  the  vsoft  mur- 
mur of  Nature's  music,  the  night-wind  sigh- 
ing through  the  trees  beneath  a  star-gemmed 
sky,  the  song  of  a  solitary  bulbul  Avarbling 
plaintively  among  the  myitle  and  oleander 
blooms,  the  plash  of  a  fountain  rippling 
near  with  "  a  sound  as  of  a  hidden  brook  In 
the  leafy  month  of  .Tune";  this,  the  exquis- 
ite languor  of  the  East,  "  for  which  the 
speech  of  England  has  no  name."  the  "Kaif " 
of  the  Arab,  the  drowsy  falseness  of  the 
Lotos-eaters'  ideal: 


Death  is  the  end  of  life;  ah,  why 

Should  life  all  labor  be? 

Let  us  alone."  ^  aHW 


m 


r 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


33 


And  so  the  months  went  by,  until  nt  Inst  frlnRo  of  thorny  shrubs  grew  along  the  edge 
a  band  of  emissaries,  to  the  number  of  sev-  of  the  cliff;  at  Intervals  yawned  deep  fls- 
enty,  was  appointed  to  take  a  journey  \o  sures,  across  which  the  wise  little  Arabian 
Mecca  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  with  Mo-  ponhs  stepped  gingerly;  and  above,  outlined 
hammed  and  discuss- 
ing with  him  the  ad- 
visability of  his  tak- 
ing up  his  residence 
at  Medina. 

A  herald  brought 
news  of  this  embassy 
to  the  prophet.  He 
w^nt  forth  to  meet 
them,  and  Y  u  s  u  f , 
hearing  by  chance  of 
the  appointed  confer- 
ence, set  out  post- 
haste after  Moham- 
med's party,  eager  to 
get  even  a  pressiu-e 
of  the  hand  from 
A  m  z  i ,  his  heart's 
bj'other,  who  he  felt 
sure  would  accom- 
pany the  emissaries. 
In  order  to  overtake 
them  more  quickly, 
he  proceeded  with  a 
trusty  guide  by  a 
shorter  route  across 
the  hills. 

The  night  was  ex- 
ceptionally dark,  and 
even  the  guide  be- 
came confused.  The 
way  led  on  and  on  be- 
tween the  intermin- 
able hills,  until  the 
two  in  complete  un- 
certainty reined  their 
steeds  on  the  verge  of 
a  cliff  that  seemed  to 
overhang  a  deep  and 
narrow       basin, 

bounded  by  flinty  rock  which  even  in  the 
darkness  loomed  doubly  black,  and  which 
rang  beneath  the  horses'  feet  with  that  pe- 
culiar, metallic  sound  that  proclaimed  it 
black  basalt,  the  "  hell-stone  "  of  the  Arabs. 
'    It   was    indeed   an   eerie   spot.     A    thick 


!■ 


"  Hold!"  cried  a  voice  from  the  air  above.— See  page  34. 


in  intense  black  against  the  dark  sky,  were 
numerous  peaks  and  pinnacles  and  castel- 
lated summits,  such  as  the  Arabs  love  to 
people  Avith  all  manner  of  genii  and  evil 
spirits  of  the  waste  and  silent  wi'derness. 
It  was  a  spot  likely  to  be  infested  with  rob- 


34 


THE  DAYS  OF  MO  1/ AM  MED. 


^1 


$ 


Ih'- 


bers,  and  Yusuf  und  his  axMc  waited  Jn 
Bome  tiepldutlon  while  coiiKldciliiK  what 
to  do. 

Presently  a  dull  trampling  Hounded  In  the 
distance.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
the  two  lone  wanderers  on  the  cliff  scarcely 
dared  to  breathe. 

The  tread  of  camels  was  soon  dlscernll)le. 
the  "Ikh!  "Ikh!"  (the  soi  nd  used  to  malce 
camels  kneel)  of  the  comel-drivers  risinj? 
from  tlie  dark  pass  below  to  the  ears  of  tlie 
men  above.  Apparently  the  party  was  about 
to  make  a  halt  in  the  dark  basin;  and  should 
It  prove  to  be  a  band  of  hill-robbers,  Yusuf 
and  his  companion  were  in  a  precarious  po- 
sition, for  the  slightest  sound  made  by  tljem 
or  their  ponies  would  probai)iy  prove  the 
signal  for  an  onslaught;  but  by  patting  and 
quieting  the  animals,  they  managed  to  keep 
their  restlessness  in  check  and  so  waited, 
scarcely  knowing  what  to  do  next. 

Ere  ten  minutes  had  elapsed,  however,  the 
tread  of  camels  was  again  heard,  and  an- 
other party  came  in  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, halting  at  the  otiier  end  of  the  ravine. 
A  call  was  sounded  and  at  once  answered 
by  the  body  Immediately  below.  The  new- 
comers advanced,  and  mutual  recognitions 
seemed  to  take  place,  although  Yusuf  could 
distinguish  neither  the  voices  nor  the  words. 

The  parties  were,  in  reality,  those  of  Mo- 
hammed and  the  emissaries  of  Medina,  who 
at  once  opened  negotiations.  After  the  salu- 
tations were  over,  they  extended  to  Moham- 
med a  formal  invitation  to  Medina. 

"  We  will  receive  you  as  a  confederate, 
obey  you  as  a  leader,  and  defend  you  to  the 
last  extremity,  even  as  we  defend  our  wives 
and  children,"  said  the  spokesman. 

"  For  your  gracious  invitation  accept  my 
mos^  hearty  thanks,"  said  Mohammed.  "  ^ly 
work  is  not  yet  ended  in  Mecca,  yet  ere  long 
I  hope  to  pay  at  least  a  visit  to  you,  O  be- 
lievers of  Medina." 

"  But,"  said  the  leader,  "  If  you  are  re- 
called to  your  own  district  you  will  not  for- 
sake us?" 

"All  things,"  replieu  Mohammed,  "are 
now  common  between  us.  Your  blood  is  my 
blood.     Your    ruin    is    my    ruin.     We    are 


bound  to  each  other  by  the  ties  of  honor  and 
interest.  I  am  your  fr'  ud  and  tlie  enemy 
of  your  foes." 

He  tlien  chose  twelve  of  the  men  to  be  the 
esi)e('ial  heralds  of  his  faitli,  and  ail,  plac- 
ing tiieir  iiands  in  ills,  swore  fealty  to  him 
in  life  and  in  death. 

"  If  we  are  killed  in  your  service,  wliat 
siiall  be  our  reward?"  asked  one  of  the  num- 
ber. 

*'  Paradise!"  cried  the  prophet.  **  Vales  of 
eternal  rest  and  felicity,  odors  of  sweet 
spices  on  the  air,  blossed  spirits  to—" 

"Holdl"  cried  a  voice  from  the  air  above. 
"  Who  are  you,  Mohammed,  who  can  dare 
to  promise  that  which  belongs  to  the  Creator 
alone?    Impostor,  take  heed!" 

It  was  only  Yusuf,  who,  in  his  anxiety  to 
discover  if  the  gloomy  vale  were  Indeed  the 
nest  of  some  daring  mountain  chief,  had 
noiselessly  descended  to  an  overhanging 
ledge,  and  had  heard  the  last  confident  as- 
sertion of  the  prophet. 

But  the  utmost  consternation  fell  upon  the 
Arabs  below.  Some,  believing  the  voice  to 
be  that  of  a  demon  of  the  rock,  were  seized 
with  sudden  panic;  others  shouted  excitedly, 
"  Spies!  spies!"  and  the  assembly  broke  up 
In  confusion,  all  scurrying  off,  leaving  Yusuf 
and  his  guide  again  alone  on  the  rock.     , 

"  Amzi!  Amzi!"  shouted  the  priest,  with  a 
forlorn  hope  that  his  friend  might  have  lin- 
gered behind  the  fleeing  party;  but  the  only 
response  was  the  beat  of  hoofs  flying  in 
eve ''  direction,  and  the  dull  thud  of  the 
can.'^ls'  padded  feet.  There  was  notiiing 
better  to  be  done  than  wait  until  morning, 
so  Yusuf  and  the  guide  lay  down  on  the 
hard  rock  for  the  rest  of  the  night.         ,   ,,    , 

For  some  time  after  this  affairs  seemed  to 
be  at  a  standstill.  Mohammed  still  con- 
tinued to  preach,  now  from  the  hill  Safa, 
now  from  the  knoll  El  Aknba  at  the  north  of 
the  town. 

His  wife,  Cadljah,  had  died  some  time  be- 
fore, and  he  had  since  married  a  widow, 
Sawda,  and  become  betrothed  to  a  child, 
Ayesha,  the  daughter  of  his  friend  and  dis- 
ciple, Abu  Beker. 

But  events  in  Mecca  were  fast  hastening 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


35 


to  a  cHsIh.  Abu  Soflnn,  stlM  the  most  mortal 
enemy  to  Mohammed  ami  hiH  religion,  had 
succeeded  Abu  Tnh'l>  in  the  government  of 
Mecca,  and  no  sooner  had  he  become  head 
of  the  Htate  than  he  determined  lO  crUHh 
Mohammed,  and  exterminate  hlH  religion  at 
any  cost.  A  plot  for  the  asHasslnatlon  of  the 
prophet  was  formed.  Several  of  the  tribe 
of  the  Korelsh  and  tiielr  allies  were  ap- 
pointed to  kill  Mohammed,  In  order  to  avert 
the  blood-revenjre  of  Mohammed's  Immedi- 
ate kin,  the  HaHchemltes,  who,  It  was 
thought,  would  not  dare  to  avenge  them- 
Belves  upon  such  numerous  and  such  scat- 
tered foes. 

The  attack  was  planned  with  the  utmost 
secrecy  In  the  cellar  of  a  house,  and  at  a 
time  but  the  space  of  three  hours  before  day- 
break, when  all  Mecca  lay  chained  In  slum- 
ber. 

Yet  not  all.  Abraham,  the  .lew,  was,  as 
usual,  on  the  alert.  Since  his  escape  he  had 
been  prowling  about  the  hills,  penniless,  and 
hence  unable  to  leave  the  district.  He  had 
now  come  down  to  steal  food,  for  necessity. 
In  his  eyes,  rendered  any  such  proceeding 
pardonable;  and,  perceiving  a  mysterious 
light  Issuing  from  a  chink  In  the  wall,  his 
natural  curiosity  asserted  Itself.  He  lay 
down  flat  on  the  ground,  put  his  ear  to  the 
chink,  and  succeeded  In  hearing  every  word 
of  the  plot.  ':     '  "  '  ■'         ^ 

Here,  then,  was  a  chance  to  gain  favor 
and  protection  from  at  least  a  few  In  Mecca. 
He  would  disclose  the  plot  to  Mohammed 
and  his  vizier,  and  beseech  their  protection 
as  the  price  of  his  services  as  a  savior  of 
the  prophet's  life.  Accordingly,  a  couple  of 
hours  before  the  time  appointed  for  the 
assassination,  and  as  soon  as  the  cover  of 
darkness  rendered  his  own  appearance  in 
the  city  safe,  he  hastened  to  the  prophet. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost.  Mohammed,  ac- 
companied by  Abu  Beker  and  the  Jew,  at 
once  fled;  while  All,  to  deceive  the  spies, 
and  keep  them  as  long  as  possible  In  check, 
wrapped  himself  In  the  prophet's  green 
cloak,  moved  round  with  it  on  for  some 
time,  and  at  last  lay  down  on  Mohammed's 
bed. 


When  the  assassins  entered.  Intending  to 
rush  upon  the  sleeping  form  and  destroy  It, 
All  threw  the  cloak  off  and  sat  np.  In  the 
meantime  tlie  fugitives  had  reached  the  cave 
of  Thor,  three  iiilw's  illstant,  from  whence, 
after  three  days,  they  escaped  to  Medina. 

This  was  the  famous  flight  of  the  prophet, 
the  Hegira,  or  Hejra,  in  the  year  (»22  A.  I), 
and  about  the  flfty-third  year  of  Moham- 
med's ugu. 


*         CHAPTER  X. 

MOHAMMED'S  ENTRANCE  INTO  MEDINA. 

Oh.  It  la  excellent 
To  have  u  giunt's  Htrengtb:  but  It  Is  tyraunous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant."  —tihakeip«ar$. 


NCB  more  after  the 
lapse  of  years  let  lis 
look  at  Amzi  as  he 
sat  one  morning  In 
his  house  at  Medina. 

The  cool  and  pleas- 
ant atmosphere  of  the 
town  In  contrast  with  the 
burning,  breathless  heat  of 
Mecca  had  charoaed  him. 
He  had  Immediately  purchased  a-^use  and 
furnished  It  with  the  luxmioufi -' splendor 
which  suited  his  rather  voluptuou#« taste.  '>:-  ' 
The  apartment  In  which  he  sat  ^as  In  the 
middle  story,  the  one  sacred  to  tliie  men  In 
a  house  of  Medina.  Rich  Persian  carpets 
were  on  the  floor,  rugs  of  Inde  were  scat- 
tered about  and  piled  with  cushions  filled 
with  softest  down.  Low  divans  Invited  re- 
pose, and  heavy  curtains  of  yellow  silk  shut 
out  the  too  brlgh'.  glare  of  day.  The  celling, 
after  the  Persian  fashion,  was  Inlaid  with 
mirrors,  fitted  in  In  different  patterns,  and 
divided  by  carved  sticks  of  palm,  stained 
red;  and  the  sweet  odor  of  richest  perfumes 
of  Arabia- Felix  spread  through  the  room  as 
If  emanating  from  the  silken  hangings  of 
the  wall. 

The  window  was  open,  and  the  breeze 
from  the  cast,  bearing,  as  It  were,  tales  of 
the  Nejd,  the  land  of  brave  men  and  beautl- 


-ft 


36 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


Sft- 


£*v 


ful  women,  swayed  the  curtains  softly. 
Outside,  In  the  sloping  garden,  waved  the 
graceful  branches  of  the  tamarisk,  glittering 
with  dew  In  the  early  morning  sun;  and 
near  the  window  a  jujube  tree  stretched  its 
dark,  shining  leaves  and  yellow  fruit  tempt- 
ingly near.  Acacias  with  sweet-scented  yel- 
low blossoms,  oleanders  glowing  with  rosy 
bloom  and  a  thicket  of  silver-leaved  castors 
separated  the  little  plot  from  the  gardens 
below,  where  grew  gourds  and  cucumbers, 
lime  and  fig  trees,  grape-vines,  water-melons 
and  pomegranates;  and  beyond  that  lay  a 
bright  patch  of  Bursim,  or  Egyptian  clover, 
like  a  yellow-green  island  on  a  darker  sea. 

Amzi,  comfortably  habited  in  a  jubbeh  of 
pink  silk,  worn  over  a  caftan  of  fine  white 
silk  flowered  with  green  and  confined  by  a 
fringed,  yellow  sash  at  the  waist,  reclined 
in  a  position  of  luxurious  ease  at  the  win- 
dow. Between  his  plump  fingers  he  held  the 
amber  stem  of  a  handsomely  carved  pipe. 
He  looked  scarcely  older  than  when  on  that 
memorable  journey  in  which  he  first  met 
Yusuf.  His  eye  was  still  as  bright,  his  hair 
scarcely  more  gray,  and  his  cheek  as  ruddy 
as  tnen;  yet  there  was  a  somewhat  discon- 
tented look  on  his  face. 

His  eye  wandered  over  the  rich  garden 
before  him,  and  he  thought  of  barren,  ashen 
Mecca.  Then  he  looked  restlessly  back  over 
the  landscape  below.  Surely  It  was  fair 
enough  to  calm  a  restlesr,  sp'rit. 

Immediately  before,  and  to  the  eastwuM, 
the  sun  had  risen  out  of  a  mass  of  lilac  and 
rose-colored  cloud.  The  tufted  trees  on  the 
distant  hills  stood  black  and  distinct  against 
the  splendor  of  the  sky.  To  the  right  the 
date-groves  of  Kuba,  famed  tliroujrhoat 
Arabia,  struggled  through  a  sea  of  mist 
that  piled  and  surged  in  waves  of  amber 
Hiid  purple,  leaving  the  tree  tops  like  islands 
on  a  vapory  sea.  To  the  left  the  seared  and 
seorlre-covered  crest  of  Mount  Ohod  rose, 
dark  and  <»cowlJ'\g,  like  a  grim  sentinel  on 
the  borders  of  an  Elysian  valley.  In  the 
rear  lay  the  plain  of  El  Munakhah,  and  the 
rush  of  the  torrent  El  Sayh  was  borne  on  the 
breeze,  bearing  the  ,villing  mind  beyond  to 
the  cool  groves  of  Kuba,  whence  this  raging 


flood  dispersed  itself  in  gentle  rills,  or  was 
carried  In  ellent  channels  to  turn  the  water- 
wheels,  or  to  fall,  with  musical  plash,  into 
wooden  troughs  that  lay  deep  in  the  shade. 

The  ripple  of  water,— ah,  what  it  means  to 
Arabian  ears!  Little  wonder  that  the  inhab- 
itant of  tha  desert  land  never  omits  It  from 
his  idea  of  paradise,  save  in  his  conception 
of  the  highest  heaven,— a  conception  not 
lacking  in  sublimity— that  of  a  silent  looking 
upon  the  face  of  God. 

In  the  immediate  foreground  lay  El 
Medina  itself,  with  its  narrow  streets,  its 
busy  bazars,  its  fair-skinned  people,  and  its 
low,  yellow,  flat-roofed  houses,  each  with  its 
well  and  court-yard,  nestling  cozily  among 
the  feathery-fronded  date-trees. 

From  the  Eastern  Road,  a  caravan  from 
the  Nejd  was  descending  slowly  into  the 
town,  and  so  clear  was  the  atmosphere  that 
Amzi  could  disting;ii8h  the  huge,  white 
dromedaries,  and  catch  an  occasional  glint 
of  a  green  shugduf,  or  the  gorgeous  litter  of 
a  grandee,  trapped  in  scarlet  and  gold. 

It  was  indeed  a  fair  scene,  and  Amzi  en- 
joyed it  to  the  full  with  the  keen  enjoyment 
of  one  who  possesses  an  esthetic  tempera- 
ment, an  intense  love  of  the  beautiful.  Yet 
he  began  to  feel  lonely  in  this  town  of  his 
adoption.  It  was  long  since  he  had  seen 
Yusuf,  and  he  commenced  to  thmk  seriously 
of  returning  for  a  time  to  Mecca.     ,-;.,,  -,  . , 

Besides,  he  was  tired  of  waiting;*  for  Mo- 
hammed's long-deferred  visit,  and  he  was 
anxious  again  to  see  the  man  whose  strange 
fascination  over  him  he  scarcely  dared  to 
acknowledge  even  to  himself.  The  empti- 
ness .and  idleness  of  his  own  life  was  begin- 
ning to  pall  upon  him,  and  he  compared  un- 
favorably his  sluggish  existence  with  the 
busy,  quietly  energetic  way  in  which  Yur  if 
was  spending  his  days. 

One  source  of  unfailing  pleasure  to  him 
had  been  the  companionshin  of  Dumah,  who 
had  followed  him  to  Medina,  but  was  wan- 
dering al)out  as  usual,  returning  to  Amzi 
when  tired  or  hungry,  as  a  birdling  returns 
to  its  mother's  wing. 

And  Amzi  had  almost  a  mother's  love  for 
the  boy,  for  poor  Dumah  seemed  a  child 


§! 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


37 


still;  he  had  grown  but  little,  his  face  was 
paler  than  of  old,  his  eyes  were  as  large  and 
blue,  and  his  bright  hair  fell  in  the  same 
soft  curls  above  his  regular  and  clear-cut 
features.  Lilse  Yusuf,  Amzi  felt  that  the 
orphan's  very  helplessness  was  an  appeal  to 
his  heart,  and  he  did  not  lock  its  doors. 

Dumah  now  came  in  wearily.  He  lay  down 
at  Am/i's  feet  and  put  his  head  on  his  knee. 
The  Meccan  stroked  his  soft  hair  gently. 

"Where  has  my  Dumah  been?"  he  asked 
tenderly. 

"  Watching  the  people  going  out  foolishly. 
Dumah  would  not  go  with  them."    ,.   i       • 

"Going  where,  lad?" 

"  Out  to  the  gardens  where  the  lotus  blows, 
and  the  date-palms  wave,  and  the  citron 
and  orange  grow." 

"  And  why  go  they,  then,  foolishly?" 
smiled  AmrJ. 

"  Because  they  go  to  meet  him,  and  they 
are  carrying  white  robes,  and  they  will  bring 
him  in  as  a  prince,— the  wicked  one,  who 
would  place  himself  above  our  blessed  Mas- 
ter!" 

Amzi  started  up  quickly,  and  threw  his 
pipe  down.  .  •  .       *■ 

"  Is  Mohammed  here?"  he  cried. 

"  He  is  here.  But  you  will  not  go  too, 
Amzi?  Alas  that  I  told  you!  The  angels  I 
see  in  ray  dreams  do  not  smile,  they  look 
away  and  vanish  when  I  think  of  Moham- 
med. Yusuf  does  not  love  him!  Let  not 
Amzi!"  pleaded  the  orphan. 

But  the  Meccan  was  gone.  Hastening  on 
towards  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  he  met  a 
great  crowd  of  people,  pressing  about  Mo- 
hammed and  Abu  Beker,  eacli  of  whom  was 
dressed  in  a  white  garment,  and  riding  tri- 
umphantly upon  a  white  camel,  the  prophet 
being  mounted  on  his  own  beast  El  Kaswa. 

The  little  peddler,  assigning  himself  a 
lower  place,  rode  behind  on  a  pack-mule. 

Mohammed  had  come,  and  was,  from  the 
very  beginning,  a  monarch,  surrounded  by 
an  army  of  blind  devclees,  believers  in  his 
holy  mission,  and  slavishly  obedient  to  his 
will. 

Amzi  took  the  prophet  to  his  house,  and 
there  entertained  him  as  a  respected  Meccan 


friend,  until  Mohammed's  home  was  erected. 
It  was  at  Amzi's  house,  too,  that  the  nup- 
tials of  Mohammed  and  the  beautiful 
Ayesha,  also  those  of  All  and  the  prophet's 
daughter  Fntimah,  took  place. 

One  of  Mohammed's  first  acts  was  to  have 
a  mosque  built,  and,  from  it,  morning  and 
night  the  call  to  prayers  was  given: 

"God  is  great!  There  is  no  God  but  God! 
Mohammed  is  the  prophet  of  God!  Come  to 
prayers.    *Jome  to  prayers!    God  is  great!" 

And  from  this  mosque  Mohammed  e.\- 
horted  with  wondrous  eloquence,  the  music 
of  his  voice  falling  like  a  spell  on  the  multi- 
tudes, as  they  listened  to  teachings  new  and 
more  living  than  the  old,  dead,  superstitious 
idolatry  to  which  they  were  in  bondage;  yet, 
had  they  known  it,  teachings  whose  choicest 
gems  were  but  crumbs  borrowed  from  the 
words  of  One  who  had  preached  In  all 
meekness  and  love  on  the  shores  Oi  Galilee 
and  the  hills  of  Palestine  more  than  six  hun- 
dred years  before. 

They  listened  in  wonder  to  condemnation 
of  their  belief  in  polytheism. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  most  merciful  God,'* 
Mohammetl  would  say,  "  say  God  i«  one 
God,  the  Eternal  God;  he  begetteth  not, 
neither  is  he  begotten,  and  there  is  not 
anyone  like  unto  him!"  Thus  did  he  aim 
at  the  foundation  of  Christianity,  seeking 
to  overthrow  belief  in  the  "  only  begotten 
Son  of  God"  as  a  divine  factor  of  the 
Trinity.  Jesu«  he  recognized  as  a  prophet, 
not  as  God's  own  Son;  and,  while  he  bor- 
rowed incessantly  from  the  Scriptures,  he 
refused  to  accept  them,  declaring  that  they 
had  become  perverted,  and  that  the  original 
Koran  was  a  volume  of  Paradise,  from 
which  Gabriel  rendered  him  transcripts,  and 
was,  therefore,  the  true  word  of  God  which 
had  been  laid  from  time  everlasting  on  what 
he  called  the  "  preserved  table,"  close  tt  the 
throne  of  God  in  the  highest  heaven. 

And  yet,  during  the  greater  part  of  his 
career,  the  utterances  of  this  strange,  incom- 
prehensible man  were  characterized  by  a 
seemingly  real  glow  of  philanthropy  and  an 
earnest  solicitude  for  the  salvation  of  his 
countrymen  from  the  deptns  of  moral  and 


I 


38 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


m  > 


m 


i 

I 

I- 


spiritual  degradation  into  which  they  had 
fallen.  A  missionary  spirit  seemed  to  be  in 
him,  in  strange  contrast  and  incompatibility 
with  the  sacrilegious  words  that  often  fell 
from  hi«  lips. 

In  all  the  records  of  history  there  is  noth- 
ing more  wonderful  than  the  marvelous  suc- 
cess which  atten(ied  Mohammed  at  Medina. 
Staid  and  sober  merchantmen,  men  with 
gray  heads,  fiery  youths,  proselytes  from  the 
tribes  of  the  desert,  even  women,  floelied  to 
him  every  day;  and  he  soon  realized  that  he 
had  a  vast  army  of  converts  ready  to  live  or 
die  for  him,  ready  to  fight  for  him  until  the 
last. 

Amzi,  alone,  of  al!  his  followers,  seemed  to 
stand  aloof,  half-believing,  yet  unwilling  to 
proclaim  his  belief  openly;  simply  waiting, 
as  he  had  waited  all  his  life,  to  see  the  truth, 
yet  too  indolent  to  set  out  bravely  In  the 
quest.  He  preferred  to  look  on  from  aside; 
to  weigh  and  calculate  motives,  actions  and 
results;  to  judge  men  by  their  fruits,  though 
the  doing  so  calle<l  for  long  waiting. 

Yet  Amzl  grew  more  and  more  dissatisfied. 
He  felt,  though  he  Icnew  not  its  cause,  the 
want  of  a  rich  spiritual  life,  that  empty  hol- 
lowness  which  pleasures  of  the  world  and 
the  mere  consciousness  of  a  moral  life  can- 
not satisfy.  •        '  I  / 

More  than  once  he  was  tempted  to  declare 
himself  a  follower  of  the  prophet,  but  he  put 
it  off  until  a  riper  season. 

Poor  Dumah  noted  Amzi's  frequent  visits 
to  the  mosque  with  a  vague  dread.  He  had 
an  instinctive  dislike  '»f  Mohammed,  whose 
assumptions  of  superiority  to  Jesus  he  un- 
derstood in  a  hazy  way,  and  resented  with 
all  his  might. 

One  day  he  entered  with  a  tablet  of  soft 
stone  to  which  a  cord  was  attached.  Putting 
the  cord  about  Amzi's  neck,  he  said: 
^li*  Amzi,  promise  your  Dumah  that  you  will 
wear  this  always,  will  you  not?  Because 
.Dumah  might  die,  and  could  not  say  the 
.words  any  more.    Promise  me!" 

"  I  promise  you,"  smiled  Amzi,  and  Dumah 
left  the  room  contented. 

Amzl  turned  the  tablet  over,  and  read  the 
familiar  words  traced  upon  the  soft  stone,— 


the  words  recognized  as  the  corner-stone  of 
Christianity: 

"  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth 
in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlast- 
ing life." 

Amzi  smiled,  and  put  the  tablet  in  his 
bosom.  :  »,  f  , ,,     .   ,     ! 


'  CHAPTER  XI. 

-  -    1 

...  ,,■-■..--.■  .:-.  -    -  t 

MOHAMMED  BECOMES  INTOLERANT. —WAR. 

"Our  virtues  disappear  when  put  In  competition 
with  our  interests,  aj  rivers  lose 
themselves  In  the  ocean. "  — 
La  Hoc/t^oucauld. 

HIRTEEN  years  had  now 
passed  since  RTohaiamed 
first  began  to  medit'  +t  i  :  lUe 
Cave  of  Hira.  During  all  that 
time  he  had  preached  peace, 
love  and  gentleness.  With 
power,  however,  came  a 
change  in  his  opinions.  He 
became  not  only  pastor  of  his 
flock,  and  judge  of  the  people,  but  also  com- 
mander of  an  army.  Worldly  ambition  took 
possession  of  his  breast,  and  the  voice  of  him 
who  had  cried,  "  Follow  the  religion  of 
Abraham,  who  was  orthodox  and  was  no 
Idolater.  Invite  men  unto  the  way  of  the 
Lord  by  wisdom  and  mild  exhortation.  .  . 
Bear  opposition  with  patience,  but  thy  pa- 
tience shall  not  be  practicable  unless  with 
Cod's  assistance.  And  be  not  thou  grieved 
on  account  of  the  unbelievers.  Let  there  be 
no  violence  in  religion,"— now  began  to  call, 
"  War  is  enjoined  you  against  the  infidels. 
Fight  therefore  against  the  friends  of  Satan, 
for  the  stratagem  of  Satan  is  weak.  And 
when  the  months  wherein  ye  shall  not  be 
allowed  to  attack  them  be  past,  kill  the 
idolaters  wherever  ye  shall  find  them,  and 
besiege  them,  and  lay  wait  for  them  In  every 
convenient  place.  Verily  God  hath  pur- 
chased of  the  true  believers  their  souls  and 
their  substance,  promising  them  the  enjoy- 
tiient  of  Paradise  on  condition  that  they 
tight  for  the  cause  of  God.    Whether  they 


% 


m' 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


39 


slay  or  be  slain,  the  promise  for  the  same  Is 
assur<Mlly  due  by  the  law,  and  the  Gospel, 
and  the  Koran." 

Clemency,  he  claimed,  had  been  the  In- 
strument of  Moses;  wisdom,  that  of 
Solomon;  righteousness,  that  of  Christ;  and 
now  the  sword  was  to  be  the  instrument  of 
Mohammed.  , 

"The  sword,"  he  exclaimed,  with  flashing 
eye,  "  is  the  Icey  of  heaven  and  hell.  All  who 
draw  it  in  the  cause  of  the  faith  will  be  re- 
warded with  temporal  advantages;  every 
drop  shed  of  their  blood,  every  peril  endured 
by  them,  will  be  registered  on  high  as  more 
meritorious  than  fasting  or  prayer.  If  they 
fall  in  battle,  their  sins  will  at  once  be 
blotted  out,  and  they  will  be  transported  to 
paradise!" 

This  fierce,  intolerant  spirit  took  possession 
of  Mohammed  almost  from  his  entrance 
into  Medina.  Chapter  after  chapter  of  the 
Koran  was  produced,  breathing  the  same 
blood-thirsty,  Implacable  hatred  of  oppo- 
sition. Mohammed,  in  fact,  seemed  like  one 
possessed  in  his  enthusiasm,  but  his  doc- 
trines caught  the  fancy  of  the  wild,  impres- 
sionable Arabs,  who  flocked  to  him  in 
crowds  as  his  fame  spread  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  El  Hejaz,  throughout 
the  Nejd,  and  even  to  the  extremities  of  Ara- 
bia-Felix. 

And  now  the  bloody  cloud  of  war  hovered 
over  the  peninsula,  and  the  people  trembled. 

The  following  letter  from  Amzi  will  de- 
scribe the  outbreak. 

r 

From  Amzi  the  Meccnn,  at  Medina, 

To  Yusuf  the  priest,  Meccn. 
My  Dear  Yusuf:— 

I  can  scarcely  describe  the  emotions  with 
which  I  write  you  again  after  a  six  mouths'  in- 
terval. Affairs  here  in  Medina  have  talvon  such 
an  unlooked-for  turn  that  I  scarcely  know 
what  to  think  or  what  to  do. 

Of  Mohammed's  wonderful  progress,  yon 
have,  of  course,  heard.  You  should  sve  him 
now,  my  dear  Yusuf, — Mohammed,  the  peaceful 


•  The  initial  "  A  "  Is  placed  nt  the  top  of  all  Arabl'm 
writings  It  Is  the  Initial  of  ••Allnh"and  the  flist 
letter  of  the  alphabet,  and  Is  symbolic  of  the  orlijln  of 
creation. ' 


trader,  the  devout  hermit,  new  little  less  than 
monarch,  with  all  tlie  sway  assumed  by  the 
most  powerful  despot;  and  yet  those  over  whom 
he  wields  his  despotism  are  but  too  willing 
servants,  ready  to  say  as  he  says,  and  to  give 
their  dearest  heart's  blood  in  his  cause. 

Indeed  I  know  not  what  the  outcome  of  it  all 
will  be.  What  astonishes  me  most  is  that  Mo- 
hammed has  suddenly  assumed  an  aggressive 
attitude.  Fire  and  the  sword  seem  to  be  the 
watchword  of  him  whom  we  knew  as  the  gentle 
husband  of  Cadijah,  the  mild  preacher  who 
bowed  his  head  and  reviled  not  oven  when  as- 
sailed with  mud  and  filth  in  the  Caaba. 

Needless  to  say,  Yusuf.  I  am  disappointed  in 
him.  You  will  be  only  too  glad  to  hear  that.  I 
hear  that  you  have  been  exhorting  the  people 
in  Mecca  to  pay  no  heed  to  him;  that  you  have 
been  seeking  to  promulgate  your  Hebrew  faith, 
or  rather  the  faith  of  your  Hebrew  friend,  of 
whose  innocence  and  release  I  was  glad  to  hear. 

My  brother,  I  pride  in  your  courage,  and  in 
the  strength  of  your  principles;  yet,  Yusuf,  I 
beseech  of  you,  be  careful  what  you  do  or  say, 
lest  you  draw  down  upon  your  head  a  storm  of 
fury  which  you  little  expect.  You  have  no  ulea 
of  the  revolution  of  feeling  here  in  Moham- 
med's favor,  and  of  the  fanatic  zeal  of  many 
of  his  followers.  Be  not  too  bold.  You  cannot 
cope  single-handed  with  such  an  overwhelming 
tide. 

The  past  month,  as  you  know,  was  the  holy 
month  Radjab,  in  which,  as  in  the  month  of 
Ramadhan,  throughout  all  El  Hejaz.  life 
should  be  held  sacred,  and  no  act  of  violence 
committed.  Can  you  believe  it  when  I  tell  you 
that  the  prophet's  men  have  attacked  more 
than  one  caravan  of  quiet  traders  and  pilgrims 
upon  their  way  to  or  from  Mecca?  Such  a 
sacrilege  seems  unpardonable  in  Arab  eyes,  but, 
forsooth,  the  prophet  has  l)een  favored  with  an- 
other revelation  justifying  him  in  what  he  has 
done. 

This,  more  than  aught  else,  makes  me  won- 
der. You,  Yusuf,  know  what  a  lover  of  peace 
I  have  been;  how  it  has  ever  grieved  me  to  see 
even  a  butterfly  fluttering  along  the  ground 
with  a  crushed  wing,  .Judge,  then,  of  my  hor- 
ror, when  I  went  out  to  the  scene  of  the  pillage 
and  saw  men  lying,  some  dead,  with  ghastly 
faces  glaring  up  at  the  hot  sun,  others  with 
gaping  wounds,  and  others  moaning  pitifully 
on  the  road-way,  with  sand  on  their  faces  and 
in  their  hair.  Yusuf,  it  made  me  sick  to  see  it. 
Had  they  been  slnin  in  fnir  battle  I  could  have 
borne  it  better.  Yet  I  was  enabled  to  give  the 
poor  wounded  creatures  some  water,  all  warm 
as  it  was  from  being  carried  so  long  a  distance; 
and  some  of  them  I  had  conveyed  to  my  house. 


40 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


li. 


80  that  every  bed-chamber  has  been  turned  into 
a  sick-room,  and  your  friend  Amzi  has  been 
suddenly  metamorphosed  into  a  sick-nurse. 
Does  that  astonish  youV 

Yet,  Yueuf,  though  I  get  little  sleep  any 
night,  and  have  to  be  on  my  feet  much  during 
the  day,  I  can  assure  you  that  I  was  never  so 
happy  in  my  life  before.  The  constant  occupa- 
tion, and  the  sense  of  being  able  to  render  the 
poor  creatures  a  little  ease,  is  just  what  I  ne<?d 
at  present  to  keep  mo  from  growinjj  moody. 

The  other  day  I  saw  some  one  who  knows  of 
you — Uzza,  the  Oman  Arab.  How  or  why  he 
has  come  here  I  know  not;  but  he  is  one  of 
Mohammed's  most  devoted  followers.  For  your 
sake,  I  hope  you  may  not  meet  him  in  Medina. 

I  knew  him,  years  ago,  at  Oman,  and  had  let- 
ters from  him  for  a  time  after  he  went  to  Per- 
sia. Perhaps  that  will  read  you  the  riddle  as 
to  how  I  knew  so  much  of  your  past  history, 
my  priest.  Recognizing  your  name,  and  not- 
ing your  priestly  bearing,  it  was  an  easy  matter 
to  connect  you  with  the  Guebre  Yusuf,  of 
whom  I  had  heard. 

I  am  convinced  that  you  are  looking  after  my 
Meccan  affairs  as  ciosely  Za  possible,  yet  re- 
member that  Ani^.i  has  a  house  in  Medina,  too, 
which  has  ever  a  door  open  for  you. 

Dumah  sends ,  his  love.  The  poor  lad  is 
greatly  excited  over  the  stirring  events  which 
are  the  talk  of  the  town  here. 

Commend  me  to  your  friend  Nathan  and  his 
family.    Trusting  to  see  or  to  hear  from  you 

soon,  , -  ,  And  the  peace, 

Amzi. 

To  this  letter  Yusuf  returned  the  following 
answer: 


Yusuf,  at  Mecca, 

To  Amzi  the  Benevolent,  Medina. 
My  Heart's  Brother:— 

Your  most  welcome  letter  lies  before  me,  and 
it  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say  with  what 
mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain  I  read  it, 
—pleasure,  because,  whether  you  will  it  or  not, 
your  confidence  in  this  false  prophet  is  totter- 
ing; pain,  because  of  the  marvelous  power 
which  this  Mohammed  seems  io  be  wielding 
over  your  excitable  Arab  populace.  Strange, 
indeed,  is  his  new  attitude;  we  had  not  deemed 
him  possessed  of  a  martial  spirit;  yet  may  we 
hope  that  this  procedure  will  be  but  as  the 
stone  which  shall  crush  his  ends,  falling  upon 
his  own  head. 

It  is  possible  that  I  may  be  in  Medina  ere 
long.  I  am  impatient  to  see  you  and  our  poor 
Dumah  again. 


And  so  Uzza  is  there,  too,  to  bring  up  afresh 
the  darkest  page  of  my  history;  for  Amzi,  it 
was  I,  in  my  fanatic  zeal,  who  induced  the 
Persian  grandmother  to  give  up  his  child  for 
sacrifice.  Scarcely  was  it  over  when,  even  in 
my  heathen  darkness,  my  whole  soul  revolted 
against  what  I  had  done,  and  against  the  faith 
which  had  sanctioned  such  deeds  of  blood. 
It  was  then  that  I  began  to  think  and  strive 
against  the  mists  of  darkness,  until  at  last  I 
fought  away  from  the  creed  of  my  country. 

I  fear  not  to  meet  Uzza,  although  I  know 
that  he  bears  me  no  good-will,  and  would  not 
refrain  from  the  assassin's  knife  did  it  satisfy 
his  wish  for  blood-revenge. 

Our  friend,  Nathan,  and  his  family  are  well. 
Did  I  tell  you  that  they  have  gone  to  live  near 
Tayf? 

I  spent  a  pleasant  day  with  them  not  long 
ago.  They  have  a  little  cabin  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  Nathan  has  a  few  flocks  which  he 
herds  out  on  the  green  hill-sides.  They  are  all 
so  happy,  and  so  contented  with  their  pastoral 
mode  of  living  that  they  think  of  moving  back 
into  Palestina,  as  the  pasturage  is  better  there. 
It  will  be  a  long  journey,  but,  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  Father's  care  over  them,  and 
the  bond  of  love  to  shorten  the  way,  they  will 
not  mind  it.  Nathan's  wife,  in  particular,  is 
anxious  to  return  to  her  childhood's  home,  and 
never  wearies  of  telling  her  children  stories  of 
her  girlhood  days,  when  she  and  her  sister, 
whom  she  still  loves  passionately,  watched  their 
sheep  on  the  hills  of  Hebron. 

Mary  and  Manasseh  have  grown  quite  tall. 
Manasseh  is  almost  a  man,  fiery  and  impetuous 
as  ever,  yet  wise  beyond  his  years,  and  a  de- 
vout Christian. 

Nathan  is  very  happy.  After  all  his  trials  he 
has  perfect  rest.  His  face  almost  beamed 
when  he  stid  to  me  in  the  words  of  the  Psalm- 
ist, "  Unless  the  Lord  had  been  my  help,  my 
soul  had  almost  dwelt  in  silence.  When  I  said, 
My  foot  slippeth,  thy  mercy,  O  Lord,  held  me 
up.  For  the  Lord  is  my  defence,  and  my  God 
is  the  rock  of  my  refuge." 

He  is  very  anxious  about  the  hostile  attitude 
which  Mohammed  has  taken.  "  God  grant," 
he  said,  "  that  there  may  not  be  another  season 
of  persecution.  If  there  be,  and  the  Lord  will, 
I  shall  stay  at  Medina  to  comfort,  if  I  may,  my 
poor  brethren  there.  *  Blessed  are  they  which 
are  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake,  for 
theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  God  grant 
that  we  may  all  be  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
him  who  said,  '  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them 
that  curse  you.  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you, 
and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you.' 
Yet,  Yusuf,  it  may  be  that  we  shall  be  forced 


THE  BAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


41 


to  defend  our  lives,  and  those  of  our  wives  and 
childreu,~(]}od  knoweth.  He  will  direct  us,  if 
we  permit  him,  so  that,  living  or  dying,  it  shall 
be  well  with  us." 

Is  not  such  love,  such  comfort  in  the  help  and 
presence  and  sympathy  of  God,  worth  more,  in- 
finitely more,  than  power  or  wealth  or  worldly 
pleasure?  Nothing  that  happens  can  over- 
whelm this  happy  family,  for  they  have  the 
consciousness  of  God's  love  and  care  in  all. 
They  have  Jesus  for  a  personal  friend  Amzi, 
what  would  I  not  give  to  know  that  you  felt 
as  they  do,  and  as  I  learn  to  feel,  more  and 
more,  every  day. 

My  friend,  I  could  keep  on  in  this  strain  for 
the  whole  night;  but  I  am  weary,  for  to-day  I 
talked  for  many  hours  with  some  of  those  who 
are  half-apostatizing  to  Mohammed. 

So,  Mizpah;  and  may  the  blessing  of  God  be 
upon  you.  Yusuf. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHEREIN  THE  BEDOUIN  YOUt'H  KEDAR 
BECOMES  A  MOSLEM. 

"  Mine  bonor  is  my  life:  both  grow  in  one;       '''' 
Take  honor  from  me,  and  my  life  is  done." 

— ahakespeare. 

HE  scene  again  opens 
far  to  the  north  of 
the  Nejd,  El  Shark, 
or  the  East.  Into 
one  of  its  most  fav- 
ored spots,  a  green 
and  secluded  valley, 
surrounded  by 
grassy  slopes,  the 
sun  shone  with  the 
fresh  brightness  of  early  morning,  sending 
floods  of  green-gold  light  through  the  leaves 
of  the  acacias,  now  covered  with  yellowish 
blossoms  heavy  with  perfume. 

By  the  side  of  a  little  torrent,  rose  the 
Wack  tents  of  a  Bedouin  encampment. 
Flocks  were  on  the  hill-side,  and  the  tinkling 
of  the  camel-bells  and  soft  bleat  of  the 
lambs  sounded  faintly  from  the  distance. 

At  the  head  of  the  valley,  upon  a  rounded 
boulder  of  granite  sat  a  woman;  and  before 
her  stood  a  young  man  to  whom  she  was 
earnestly  talking,  at  times  stretching  out  her 
hands  aa  though  she  were  beseecLlng  him 
for  some  favor. 


The  woman  was  tall  and  well-built,  her 
eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  their  bril- 
liancy increased,  according  to  Bedouin  cus- 
tom, by  the  application  of  kohl  to  the  lids. 
Her  face  was  keen  and  intelligent,  and  her 
hair,  braided  in  Innumerable  small  plaits, 
and  surmounted  by  a  much  bespangled 
head-dress,  was  slightly  streaked  with  gray. 

The  youth  was  slight  and  agile,  his  every 
movement  full  of  grace.  His  face  was  oval, 
regular  in  its  contour,  and  full  of  expression, 
although  the  Jewish  cast  of  his  features  had 
traces  of  Arab  blood.  He  seemed  to  be  in 
some  excitement,  for,  with  a  trait  peculiar 
to  Bedouins,  his  restless  and  deep-se'  eyes 
were  now  half-closed  until  but  a  narrow, 
glittering  line  appeared,  and  now  suddenly 
opened  to  their  fullest  extent  and  turned 
directly  upon  the  woman  to  whom  he  talked. 

"  Would  you  have  me  branded  among  the 
whole  tribe  as  a  coward,  mother?"  he  was 
saying.  "  Are  not  the  Bedouin  lads  from  all 
over  the  Nejd  flocking  to  the  field,  even  as 
the  sparrows  flock  before  the  storm  clouds 
of  the  north?  And  will  the  son  of  Musa  be 
the  craven,  crouching  at  home  in  his 
mother's  nest?" 

"  A  flock  of  vultures  are  they,  rather!"  she 
cried  passionately—"  Vultures  flocking  to  a 
feast  of  blood,  to  gloat  over  the  carrion  of 
brothers,  son.*,  and  husbands,  left  dead  on 
the  reeking  plain,  while  in  their  solitary 
iiomes  the  women  moan,  even  as  moans  the 
bird  of  the  tamarisk,  robbed  of  its  young." 

"  'Tis  your  Jewish  heart  speaks  now, 
mother.  Ah,  but  your  Jewish  women  are 
too  soft-hearted!  Know  you  not  that  Be- 
douin mothers  have  not  only  sent  their  sons 
to  battle,  but  have  gone  themselves  and 
fought  in  the  thickest  of  the  fray?" 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  true  Bedouin,  and  ashamed 
of  your  mother!"  returned  Lois,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Truly,  a  Jewess  has  no  place  among  the 
tribes  of  the  wilderness." 

The  youth's  face  softened.  "  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  my  mother!"  he  said,  quickly. 
"  But  my  blood  leaps  for  the  glory  of  battle, 
for  the  clash  of  cymbals,  the  speed  of  the 
charge,  the  tumult,  and  the  victory!" 

"  But  a  hollow  glory  you  will  find  it,"  she 


i 


42 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


^ 


il' 


said  scornfully.  "  Murder  and  pillage,— and 
all  sanctioned  in  tlie  name  of  religion!" 

*'  Even  so,  is  not  the  name  of  harami  (bri- 
gand) accounted  honorable  among  the  desert 
tribes?"  asked  the  youth,  quickly. 

"  Alas,  yes.  Ye  reck  not  that  it  has  been 
said,  *  Thou  shalt  not  steal.'  But  you, 
Kedar,  care  not  for  the  Jewish  Scripture, 
Why  need  I  quote  it  to  you  I" 

"  Arabian  religion,  Arabian  honor,  for  the 
Arab,  say  I!"  returned  the  youth  haughtily. 
"  Let  me  roam  over  the  wild  on  my  steed, 
racing  with  the  breeze,  lance  in  hand,  bound 
for  the  hunt  or  fray;  let  me  swoop  upon  the 
cowardly  caravans  whose  hundreds  shriek 
and  scream  and  fall  back  before  a  handful 
of  Bedouin  lads,  if  I  will.  More  honorable 
it  is  to  me  than  to  plod  along  in  a  shugduf 
on  a  long-legged  camel  with  a  bag  of  corn 
or  a  trifle  of  cloth  to  look  after.  Be  the  Jew 
if  you  will,  but  give  me  the  leaping  blood, 
the  soaring  spirit  of  the  Bedouin!" 

The  woman  sighed  again.  "  You  will  be 
killed,  Kedar,"  she  said.  "Then  what  will 
all  this  profit  you?" 

*•  To  die  on  the  field  Is  more  glorious  than 
to  breathe  one's  life  out  tamely  in  bed,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

There  was  no  use  of  reasoning  with  this 
rash  youth. 

"  And  think  you  this  Mohammed  Is  worthy 
of  your  sacrifice?"  she  asked. 

"  If  he  be  really  inspired,  as  hundreds  now 
believe,  is  he  not  worthy  of  every  sacrifice? 
Does  he  not  promise  his  followers  an  eternal 
felicity?" 

"A  vile  impostor!"  exclaimed  the  woman 
harshly.  "  Yet  you  will  not  believe  what  I 
say,  until  your  own  eyes  see  and  your  own 
ears  hear!  Go!  Go!  I  shall  talk  no  more  to 
you!  If  you  fall  it  shall  be  no  fault  of  Lois'!" 

She  arose  and  waved  him  off  with  an  im- 
patient gesture.    Yet  he  lingered. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  mother?"  ne  asked, 
gently. 

The  woman's  mother-heart  welled  to  the 
brim.    She  answered  brokenly: 

"My  son,  my  son!  Could  I  do  aught  else? 
Take  my  blessing  with  you!  And  now,  here 
comes  your  father." 


Musa  was  feebler  than  upon  that  first 
night  when  he  met  Yusuf  in  his  tent,  and  hi« 
hair  had  become  almost  white,  yet  there 
was  the  same  dignity  in  his  appearance. 

"  Go,  Kedar,"  he  said,  "  and  prove  that 
you  are  indeed  the  son  of  Musa.  Go,  and 
see  that  you  bring  back  good  news  of 
battle!" 

Kedar  bent  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 

Before  an  hour  had  passed  he  was 
mounted  on  the  swiftest  of  his  father's 
horses— a  short,  fleshless  animal,  with  legs 
thin  and  of  steel-like  muscle.  But  its  slen- 
der neck,  its  small,  snake-like  head,  its 
dilating  nostrils,  through  which  the  light 
shone  crimson,  and  its  fiery,  intelligent  eye, 
showed  its  blood  as  it  pawed  the  ground  and 
neighed  Impatiently.  A  noble  animal  and  a 
noble  rider  they  looked  as  they  were  off  like 
an  arrow,  Kedar's  fine  figure  swaying  witli 
the  movement  of  the  steed  as  though  rider 
and  horse  were  one.  ^  v  : 

All  alone  went  the  youth  across  hill  and 
valley,  over  rock  and  torrent,  fearless  and 
swift  as  an  eagle;  for  Kedar  scorned  to  seek 
the  protection  of  numbers,  although  quite 
aware  of  the  fact  that  a  large  caravan, 
under  Abu  Sofian,  was  even  then  on  its  way 
from  Syria  to  Mecca,  and  was  within  three 
hours'  journey  from  him. 


y    J'' 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

ABU  SOFIA  N'S  CARAVAN. 


HILE  Kedar  was 
thus     speeding 
towards   Medina, 
the  caravan  was 
also     proceeding 
more      slowly 
towards      the 
south.    It    c  o  n  - 
sisted    of    thirty 
horsemen      and 
one  thousand   camels   richly 
laden  with  grain,  with  spices, 
with  purple  of  Syria,  richest  cloths  of  Da- 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


43 


_\  „ 


ninscus,  and  choicest  perfumes  of  the  nortli- 
evn  regions. 

It  was  the  month  Rnmndhan,  ind  the 
peaceful  traders  went  confidently  and  se- 
curely on  their  way,  well  pleased  with  the 
success  of  their  Journey  and  hopeful  In  an- 
ticipation of  the  large  gain  they  Avere  to 
make  during  the  great  bazar  of  the  pilgrim- 
age. 

While  thus  proceeding  leisurely  on.  the 
leaders  were  somewhat  surprised  to  see  a 
solitary  rldor  coming  towards  them  In  the 
greatest  haste.  He  was  mounted  on  a  swift 
dromedary,  and  with  head  bent  down 
so  that  his  turban  concealed  his  face,  he 
kept  striking  the  animal  with  his  short 
camel-stk'k  and  urging  it  on  with  his  shrill 
"Yfikh!    Yftkh!" 

All  breathless  he  at  last  reached  the  cara- 
van.   "  Is  Abu  Soflan  here?"  he  cried. 

"  I  am  Abu  Soflan,"  said  the  sturdy  old 
chief.    "  What  do  you  desire  of  me?" 

"  I  have  been  sent  by  Amzl  the  benevo- 
lent," returned  the  other.  "  He  bids  me  say 
to  Abu  Soflan  that  it  will  be  well  for  the 
caravan  to  advance  with  the  greatest  cau- 
tion, as  Mohammed  and  his  forces  are  in 
ambush  on  the  way." 

"  What  guarantee  have  I,"  said  Abu 
Soflan,  "that  you  are  truly  from  Amzl  the 
Meccan,  and  not  an  emissary  of  Mohammed 
sent  to  entrap  us  Into  some  narrow  glen?" 

"  Here  Is  your  guarantee,"  replied  the 
stranger,  stretching  forth  his  hand.  "  Recog- 
nize you  not  this  ring?" 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  Abu  Soflan,  satis- 
fied.   "  We  are  much  beholden  to  you  and  to 
our  friend  Amzl,  who  we  had  feared  was 
but  too  good  a  friend  to  this  same  Moham 
med."  .'i  ." 

"Can  you  trust  Amzl?"  asked  one  near, 
anxiously. 

"  As  my  own  soul,"  returned  the  leader. 
"Amzl's   heart   Is   gold;   Amzl's   words  are 
jewels  of  purest  luster.    He  speaks  truth.' 
Then  to  the  messenger,   "  Know  you  what 
route  Mohammed  will  take?" 

"  I  know  not.  He  has,  doubtless,  spies, 
who  will  Info'-m  him  of  your  movements, 
and  thus  enable  him  to  act  accordingly." 


"Then  It  remains  for  us  to  meet  him  by 
his  own  tactics,"  said  Abu  Soflan.  "  and  no 
time  is  to  be  lost.  You,  Omalr  my  faithful, 
speed  to  Mecca  with  what  dispatch  you 
may.  Go  by  the  by-paths  which  you  know 
so  well.  Tell  Abu  .7ahl,  whom  I  have  left 
in  charge,  to  send  us  help  quickly." 

Omair  made  obeisance  and  left  at  once. 

"  You,  Akab  and  Zimmah."  continued  the 
leader,  "go  by  the  hills  ahead  and  find  out 
what  you  can.  As  for  us.  we  will  keep  our 
lips  closed  and  our  eyes  and  ears  open.  Abu 
Sofian  is  not  yet  so  old  that  he  has  forgotten 
the  signs  of  the  wilderness."     ^;    ' 

'.  he  vast  procession  moved  on  again 
slowly  and  in  a  dead  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  trampling  of  the  beasts  and  the  moans 
of  the  camels. 

Presently,  on  coming  near  a  spot  which 
might  be  deemed  hazardous  ground.  Abu 
Soflan  ordered  a  halt  and  went  forward  him- 
self, alone  and  on  foot.  With  eye  on  the 
alert,  ear  on  a  tension  to  catch  the  slightest 
sound,  and  body  bent  downward  to  facili- 
tate the  closest  scrutiny  of  the  ground,  the 
keen  old  man  proceeded  slowly,  stepping 
with  cat-like  precision  and  quietness. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclamation.  A 
small  object  lay  dark  on  the  yellow  sand. 
He  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  date-stone.  He 
examined  it  closely.  It  ;vas  slightly  smaller 
than  the  stones  of  the  ordinary  fruit. 

"  A  Medina  datel"  he  exclaimed;  "  who- 
ever has  thrown  it  there!" 

Going  a  few  paces  further,  he  found  sev- 
eral similar  ones  thrown  by  the  wayside. 
The  trampling  of  the  sand,  too,  showed 
that  a  considerable  force  had  been  on  the 
road  at  no  distant  time. 

He  bent  down  again  and  directed  his  keen 
scrutiny  on  the  road,  then  retraced  his  steps 
for  a  short  distance.  There  were  tracks 
pointing  in  both  directions,  but  at  one  x)olnt 
the  company  seemed  to  have  turned.  4-^?* .-i.a, 

It  was  clear,  then,  that  for  some  reason 
the  force  had  been  ordered  to  turn  and  go 
back  for  a  distance,  probably  to  await  the 
caravan  In  some  ravine,  and  that  they  were 
now  not  very  far  away.  It  was  necessary, 
then,  to  be  as  expeditious  as  possible. 


mmm 


44 


THE  DAYF  OF  MOHAMMED. 


I 


'•II' 


He  hastily  returned  and  gave  the  order 
that  the  route  of  the  caravan  be  changed, 
and  that  the  party  should  cross  over  the 
hills  and  proceed  by  a  route  close  to  the  Red 
Sea  until  the  place  of  danger  was  left  behind. 

This  was  accordingly  done,  and  the  long 
lines  passed  anxiously  yet  laboriously  on- 
ward over  flinty  summits,  down  steep  and 
rugged  hillsides,  past  rocky  clefts  and  ovtM* 
barren  desert  spots  peopled  only  by  the 
echoes  that  rang  from  the  mountain  sides, 
until  at  last  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  Red 
Sea  lay  below,  and  the  anxious  travelers  felt 
that,  for  the  present  at  least,  they  were  safe. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  BEDR.  '  -•«*  > 

"  A  Prodigy  of  Fear,  and  a  portent 
Of  broached  mlacbief  to  the  unborn  times  " 

—Shakespeare. 

HE  afternoon  was  in- 
tensely warm.  Al- 
though the  heat  of  the 
day  was  past,  the  houses 
«f  Mecca  seemed  to  bake 
in  the  sun,  the  sand  burned 
like  a  furnace,  and  a  visi- 
ble, shimmering  heat 
seemed  to  fill  the  air.  Nev- 
ertheless the  ceremonies  of 
Tawaf  and  the  ablutions  of  Zem-Zem  went 
on  unceasingly,  for  it  was  the  month  of  Ram- 
adhan,  and  the  half-naked  pilgrims,  with 
their  scanty  white  garments,  shaven  heads, 
and  bare  feet,  kept  up  the  perpetual  prom- 
enade about  the  temple,  ev^n  when  so  hot  as 
to  be  ready  to  drop  of  exhaustion.  The 
courtyard  was  crowded  with  people,  the  car- 
riers of  Zem-Zem  water  were  in  constant  de- 
mand, and,  in  the  cooler  recesses  of  the  cov- 
ered portico  around  the  great  yard,  a  hum- 
ming trade  went  on,  the  venders'  cries  ris- 
ing above  the  prayers  of  the  pilgrims. 

Such  was  the  scene  upon  which  Omair  sud- 
denly staggered,  all  breathless,  with  haggard 
face,  turban  awry,  and  thin  wisps  of  hair 
streaming  in  wet  hanks  over  his  brow.     ^ 


"  Where  is  Abu  Jahl?"  he  cried,  gasping. 

"  Why,  what  is  wrong?  Tell  us!"  cried  the 
curious  crowd  in  some  consternation. 
"  Where  is  Abu  Soflan?  Where  is  the  cara- 
van?   Why  have  you  come  alone?" 

"  Send  me  Abu  Jahl!"  was  his  only  reply. 

The  old  man  happened  to  be  at  the  Caaba, 
and  came  anxiously  at  the  unexpected  sum- 
mons. 

"Omair!"  he  exclaimed.  "Allah!  What 
has  happened?" 

"  Send  them  help!"  gasped  Omair.  "  Send 
them  help  at  once,  or  not  one  in  our  fair 
caravan  may  escape!  Mohammed  is  lying  in 
wait  for  them  in  the  mountain  passes." 

"  May  Allah  have  mercy !"  ejaculated  the 
old  man;  and  the  crowd  a1)out  shrieked  and 
groaned. 

"  Bring  me  the  stair!"  called  Abu  Jahl. 
"  Place  it  close  to  the  Caaba!" 

This  done,  he  ascended  to  the  roof  where 
all  might  see  him.  His  snowy  beard  de- 
scended to  his  waist  over  his  flowing  gar- 
ments, and  his  white  locks  fell  thinly  from 
beneath  his  kuflyah. 

Silence  fell  upon  the  assembly  below,  and 
from  every  street  men  came  hurrying  in  to 
hear  the  strange  tidings. 

"  In  the  name  of  Allah,  hear!"  called  Abu 
Jahl  in  loud  tones.  "  Ye  of  the  tribe  of  Kore- 
ish,  hear!  Ye  who  love  Abu  Soflar,  hear! 
Ye  who  have  friends  or  goods  in  the  great 
caravan  from  Syria,  hear!  Ye  above  whom 
the  arch-impostor,  Mohammed,  aspires,  and 
whom  he  would  fain  crush  beneath  his  feet 
as  the  vile  serpent  in  the  dust,  hear!  He 
hath  beset  our  friends  in  the  fastnesses  of 
the  mountains.  He  swoopeth  upon  them  as 
the  eagle  upon  the  defenceless  lamb  out  of 
the  fold!  Who,  then,  among  you,  will  follow 
Abu  Jahl  to  deliver  them?"       '      ' 

An  approving  murmur  rose,  long  and  loud; 
then  a  hush  fell  as  the  aged  man  continued, 
appealing  to  the  courage  of  his  hearers: 

"Ye  who  fear  not  the  foul  rebel's  sword, 
ye  who  would  uphold  the  honor  of  your 
wives  and  little  ones,  nor  send  your  children 
out  upon  the  world  as  the  offspring  of  cow- 
ards, beseech  your  gods  for  blessing,  then 
mount,  and  meet  me  as  soon  as  may  be  out- 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


"45 


iA 


side  the  temple  gates.    In  tbe  name  of  Allah, 
good-speed!" 

A  shout  of  assent  arose.    The  thoroughly 
excited  multitude  swayed  and  surged   like 
the  waves  of  the  sea.     Hundreds  hurried 
off  to  do  the  behest 
of    their    leader, 
and,  returning,  has- 
tened    to     perform 
Tawaf    about    the 
Caaba  before  setting 
out    on   their   peril- 
ous Journey. 

Yusuf,  as  a  Chris- 
tian, dared  not  enter 
the  temple;  but  he 
heard  the  news 
from  without.  His 
heart  was  moved 
with  compas.slon  for 
the  poor,  defenceless 
traders,  caugiit  like 
mice  in  a  trap,  and 
he  decided  to  fall 
into  the  ranks  of  the 
rescue  party,  intend- 
ing. If  his  life  were 
spared,  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Amzi,  at 
Medina. 

While  the  recruits 
were  gathering, 
Henda,  the  wife  of 
Abu  Sofian,  rushed 
up,  her  face  wild 
and  haggard  with 
terror,  her  long 
black  hair  stream- 
ing on  the  wind,  her 
eyes  flashing  with 
excitement,  and  her 
lips  drawn  back,  ex- 
posing her  yellow, 
fang-like    teeth.     A 

tigress  she  looked  in  her  fury,  and  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  Abu  Jahl  prevented  her 
from  going  with  the  expedition,  which.  In 
the  cooler  shades  of  evening,  started  off  at  a 
rapid  pace,  leaving  her  to  nurse  her  ven- 
geance until  a  later  day.      '  f^-?^  f'- 


Hurried,  yet  long  and  tedious,  was  the 
Journey,  and  the  anxiety  and  impatience  of 
the  volunteers  made  it  seem  almost  inter- 
minable. 

At  length  news  was  brought  of  the  safety 


The  youth  made  a  quick  lunge,  piercing  the  priest's  shoulder.— See  page  46. 

of  the  caravan,  and  of  its  deviation  towards 
the  sea.  But  the  blood  of  the  Meccans  was 
up,  and  the  fiery  old  leader  was  determined 
to  punish  Mohammed  for  his  misconduct, 
and  thus,  perhaps,  prevent  him  from  com- 
mitting similar  atrocities  in  the  future.    Ac- 


46 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


I 


5l 

■'I' 


cordlngly  he  sent  pnrt  of  his  troops  for  pro- 
tection to  the  enravan,  and  commanded  the 
rest,  ahout  nine  hundred  In  number,  to  push 
on;  and  among  those  ordered  forward  to  the 
field  was  Yusuf. 

Mohammed,  with  three  hundred  and  thir- 
teen soldiers,  mounted  chiefly  on  camels,  re- 
ceived word  of  this  advance.  His  men  were 
lying  between  Medina  and  the  sea,  and,  as 
he  thought,  directly  between  the  caravan 
and  Abu  Jahl's  army.  He  told  his  men  to  be 
of  good  cheer,  as  Allah  had  promised  them 
an  easy  victory;  yet  he  was  careful  to  omit 
no  human  menus  of  securing  an  advantage. 
He  posted  his  troops  beside  the  brook  Bedr, 
and  had  them  hastily  throw  up  an  entrench- 
ment to  cover  the  flank  of  his  troops.  Then, 
sure  of  a  constant  supply  of  water,  and  safe 
from  fear  of  surprise,  he  awaited  the  Mec- 
can  army. 

He  himself  ascended  a  little  eminence, 
accompanied  only  by  Abu  Beker,  and.  In  a 
small  hut  made  of  branches,  he  prayed  for 
the  assistance  of  three  thousand  angels.  In 
his  excitement,  one  of  his  old  paroxysms 
came  on,  but  this  was  regarded  as  auspicious 
by  his  men,  to  whom,  superstitious  as  they 
were,  every  occurrence  of  this  kind  was  an 
additional  presage  of  victory  and  an  ad- 
ditional spur  to  bravery  in  battle. 

And  now  the  opposing  force  appeared, 
coming  down  the  opposite  hill,  the  men  hot, 
weary,  and  covered  with  dust. 

After  a  preliminary  skirmish  between  in- 
dividual combatants,  the  battle  began,--not 
a  systematic  charge  in  close  ranks,  not  the 
disciplined  attack  of  trained  warriors,  but  a 
wild  m§16e  of  camels,  horses,  flashing 
scimitars,  gleaming  daggers  and  plunging 
spears,  in  the  midst  of  clouds  of  dust  and 
streaming  scarfs. 

The  combat  was  long,  and  at  one  time  the 
party  of  Mohammed  seemed  to  waver.  The 
prophet  rushed  out,  threw  a  handful  of 
dust  into  the  air  and  exclaimed: 

"  May  confusion  light  upon  their  faces! 
Charge,  ye  faithful!  charge  for  Allah  and  his 
prophet!" 

-:  Nothing   could    withstand   the   wild   dash 
made  by  his  men.    Filled  with  the  passion 


of  enthusiasm,  the  zeal  of  fanatics,  and  the 
conrtdence  of  succesw,  they  bore  down  like 
madmen.  The  Korelsh,  many  of  whom  were 
fearful  of  encliantment  by  the  prophet,  were 
seized  with  sudden  panic.  In  vain  Abu  Jahl 
tried  to  rally  them.  He  was  torn  from  his 
horse  by  a  savage  Moslem,  and  his  head 
severed  from  his  body.  His  troops  fled  In 
teiTor,  leaving  seventy  men  dead  on  the  field 
and  seventy  prisoners. 

The  bodies  and  prisoners  were  robbed,  and 
the  spoil  divided.  Mohammed,  in  order  to 
avert  dispute  over  the  booty,  very  con- 
veniently had  a  revelation  at  the  time,— 
"  Know  that  whenever  ye  gain  any  spoil, 
a  fifth  part  thereof  belongetli  unto  God, 
and  to  the  apostle,  and  to  his  kindred, 
and  the  orphans,  and  the  poor,  and  the 
traveler." 

Upon  this  occasion  he  claimed  a  considera- 
ble amount  of  silver,  and  a  sword,  Dhu'l 
Pakar  (or  the  Piercer),  which  he  carried  in 
every  subsequent  battle. 

During  the  battle,  Yusuf,  the  priest,  had 
fought  bravely.  Mounted  on  a  magnificent 
horse,  his  commanding  figure  had  marked 
him  out  as  an  object  worthy  of  attack.  Ac- 
cordingly he  was  ever  In  the  thickest  of  the 
fight.  With  cool  and  calm  determination 
his  blows  fell,  until  suddenly  an  event  oc- 
curred which  completely  unmanned  him,  and 
gave  his  enemies  the  advantage. 

Among  the  opponents  who  singled  him 
out  for  attack  was  a  youth  mounted  on  a 
Iiorpe  of  equal  power  and  agility.  The  youth 
was  rather  slight,  but  his  skill  in  thrusting 
and  In  averting  strokes,  and  his  evidence  of 
practice  in  every  exercise  of  the  lance,  ren- 
dered him  a  fitting  adversary  for  the  priest 
with  his  superior  strength. 

For  some  time  their  combat  had  gone  on 
single-handed,  when  the  youth's  head-dress 
falling  off  revealed  a  face  strikingly  familiar 
to  Yusuf.  It  was  Manasseh's  own  face,  pole, 
and  with  clots  of  blood  upon  it! 

The  priest  was  horror-stricken.  He  fore- 
bore  to  thrust,  and  the  youth,  seizing  the  op- 
portunity, made  a  quick  lunge,  piercing  the 
priest's  shoulder,  and  fellinp:  him  to  the 
ground.    A  new  opponent  came  and  engaged 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


47 


/ 


the  youth's  attention;  the  panic  fell,  and  the 
priest,  st't'lnn  that  It  was  useless  to  remain, 
managed  to  mount  and  ride  off  after  the  re- 
treat ing  troops. 

Scarcely  Injured,  yet  covered  with  blood, 
he  dismounted  at  Amzl's  door  In  Medina. 

"  Ydsuf !  My  brother!"  cried  the  Meccau 
In  astonishment,  "  what  means  this?" 

In  a  few  words  Yusuf  told  the  tale  of  the 
battle,  and  Amzl  placed  him  comfortably 
upon  a  soft  couch,  Insisting  upon  ministering 
to  him  as  though  he  had  been  severely 
wounded. 

**  So,  Yusuf  the  gentle  too  has  become  a 
setker  of  man's  blood!'  he  said.  "Verily. 
\Nhat  an  effect  hath  this  degenerate  age!" 

*•  Believe  me,  friend,"  returned  the  other, 
earnestly,  "  you  too  would  have  gone  had 
you  been  In  Mecca  and  had  heard  of  our  poor 
friends,  all  unarmed,  and  apparently  In  the 
power  of  the  enemy,  ^^'hen  the  advance  to 
Bedr  was  ordered,  I  was  one  under  authority, 
and  had  no  choice  but  to  submit,  though  I 
had  little  enough  love  for  the  stench  of 
blood." 

"  Yet,"  returned  Amzl,  "  Yusuf's  life  In  too 
precious  to  be  risked  in  such  madness.  It  Is 
not  necessary  for  him  to  court  death;  for  the 
tluic  may  soon  come  when  he  shall  be  forced 
to  fight  In  self-defence.  Till  then,  let  foolish 
youths  dash  to  the  lance's  point  if  they  will." 

Yusuf  bowed  his  head,  and  In  a  low  tone 
replied:  "  '  O  God,  the  Lord,  the  strength  of 
my  salvation,  thou  hast  covered  my  head  In 
the  day  of  battle.  He  hath  delivered  my  soul 
in  peace  from  the  battle  that  was  against 
me.  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 
for  thou  art  with  me.  He  that  dwelleth  in 
the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty.  I.  will 
say  of  the  Lord,  He  is  my  refuge  and  my 
fortress:  my  God;  in  him  will  I  trust.'  Arazi, 
whether  In  life  or  in  death,  it  shall  be  as  he 
wills." 

Amzl  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Yusuf," 
he  said,  "  is  there  no  extremity  of  your  life 
in  which  your  religion  fails  to  give  you  com- 
fort? It  seems  to  furnish  you  with  words 
befitting  every  occasion." 


"  Comfort  in  every  hour  of  need,"  returned 
Yusuf,  "  deliverance  In  every  liour  of  temp- 
tation, Is  our  God  able  to  bewtow  If  we  seek 
him  In  spirit  and  In  truth.  Tldngs  temporal, 
as  well  as  things  spiritual,  call  for  his  al- 
mighty love  and  attention;  and  our  love  for 
him  brightens  every  pjithway  in  life.  It  is 
the  knowledge  of  this  which  has  upheld  his 
children  In  all  the  ages;— not  one  of  them 
who  has  not  gloried  in  feeling  that  *  God  Is 
our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help 
In  time  of  trouble.  Therefore  will  we  not 
feur  though  the  earth  be  removed,  and 
though  the  mountains  be  carried  Into  the 
midst  of  tlie  sea.'  Not  one  of  them  but  has 
at  some  time  found  comfort  In  the  promises, 
'  Whe'j  the  poor  and  the  needy  seek  water, 
and  there  is  none,  and  their  tongue  falleth 
for  thirst,  I  the  Lord  will  hear  them;  I,  the 
God  of  Israel,  will  not  forsake  them.  He 
that  keepeth  Israel  slumbers  not.  nor  sleeps. 
Fear  thou  not,  for  I  am  with  thee;  be  not 
dismayed, for  I  am  thy  God;  I  will  strengthen 
tliee;  yea,  I  will  help  thee;  yea,  I  will  uphold 
thee  with  the  right  hand  of  my  righteous- 
ness.' Think  of  this  help,  Amzl,  in  every 
struggle;  in  the  struggle,  worse  than  any 
time  of  battle,  with  one's  own  sinful  heart. 
And  there  is  not  one  of  God's  children  but 
has  realized  the  blessedness  of  following  the 
commands  of  Jesus,  '  Have  faith  in  God. 
Ask.  and  It  shall  be  given  you;  seek,  and  ye 
shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto 
you.'  Amzl,  you  who  love  gentleness  and 
peace,  truth  and  humility,  cannot  you  find  in 
Christ  and  his  loving  precepts  all  you  would 
ask?  Can  anything  appeal  to  your  warm 
heart  more  than  such  injunctions  as 
these?—'  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that 
curse  you,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you, 
and  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  you 
and  persecute  you.  When  thou  doest  alms, 
let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right 
hand  doeth.  Let  your  light  so  shine  before 
men,  that  they  may  see  your  good  works, 
and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven. 
Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged.  Watch  ye, 
therefore,  and  pray  always.  Pray  that  ye 
enter  not  Into  temiitatlon.' " 

He  paused,  out  of  breath;  for  such  had 


^  THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 

been  his  study  of  the  Scriptures  that  the  ami  the  curtain  (or  *  Klswah ')  oorreHi)ondln« 

words  came  In  a  flood  to  his  lli>8.  to  the  veil  of  the  tabernacle.      This  Haiue 

Amzl     sighed.    "  Yes,     Yusuf,"     he     said,  Caaba  may  trace  Its  orli^in  In  some  dim  way 

"such  words  seem  to  me  full  of  goodness  to  the  ancient  tabernacle,  of  which.  In  this 

and  sweetness;  yet,  try  as  I  may,  I  cannot  land,  the  significance  must  have  become  lost 

realize  their  true  Import.    I  cannot  rejoice,  In  the  centuries  during  which  the  Ishmaellt- 

aH  you  and  your  friends  do,  in  your  religion  ish  race  forgot  the  true  worship  of  God." 

and  Its  promises."  "  And  what  think  you  of  the  course  which 

•'My  Amzl,"  returned  the  priest,  "how  affairs  are  now  talting  in  Arabia?"  asked 
can  you  be  warmed  except  you  come  to  the  Amzl.  "  You  believe  In  the  supervision  of 
flre?  Remember  the  man  with  the  withered  God;  why,  then,  does  he  permit  such  out- 
hand.  Did  he  not  stretch  it  out  in  faith?  breaks  as  the  present  one  is  proving  to  be?" 
My  friend,  like  him,  act!    Reach  out  your  "  I  certainly  believe  that  the  Creator  sees 


heart  to  God.  He  will  not  fall  you.  Look 
not  upon  yourself.  Look  upon  God,  who  Is 
indeed,  closer  to  you  than  you  can  imagine. 
Put  your  hand  In  his,  behold  his  love  mani- 
fested to  us  In  the  coming  of  his  dear  Son, 
and  feel  that  that  love  is  to-day  the  same, 
proceeding  from  the  Father  in  whom  is  '  no 
variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning.'  " 

Amzl  sighed.  "  Yusuf,"  he  said,  "it  ap- 
pears all  dfrk.  Impenetrable,  to  me.  A  wall 
of  adamant  seems  to  stand  between  me  and 
God.  Pray  for  me,  friend.  In  this  matter 
I  fear  I  am  heartless."!.    ;       ;v  i  r 

In  spite  of  this  assertion,  there  was  genu- 
ine concern  In  the  tone,  and  the  priest's  face 
flushed  In  the  glad  light  of  hope. 

"  Amzl,"  he  exclaimed,  "  my  hope  for  you 


and  knows  all  things.  I  believe,  too,  that 
even  to  Mohammed,  at  one  time  In  his  life, 
the  Holy  Spirit  appealed,  as  he  did  to  me, 
and,  I  hope,  does  now  to  you,  Amzl,— for  hla 
pleadings  come  sometime  to  all  men;  but,  I 
tlilnk  that  If  In  earnest  at  first.  Mohammed 
—if,  Indeed,  he  be  not  a  monomaniac  on  the 
subject  of  his  divine  calling— has  given  him- 
self up  to  the  wild  Indulgence  of  his  am- 
bition, forgetting  Him  whose  powe  's  able 
to  direct  us  all  aright.      Hence,  uides 

himself,  rather  than  seeks  to  be  gu.-^v«,  and, 
In  such  a  case,  he  may  sometimes  be  allowed 
to  go  on  In  his  own  way,  bearing  with  hira 
those  who  are  so  foolish  as  to  aecept  his 
teaching.  Something  of  this  kind  may,  in- 
deed, be  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  crimes  and 


increases.    Even  now,  you  begin  to  realize    calamities   which   enter  Into   many   human 


your  own  self:  It  remains  for  you  to  realize 
God's  self.  Know  God— would  I  could  burn 
that  upon  your  heart!  All  else  would  be 
made  plain."  .:;;^is  :m  i   ; 

Amzl  sighed  again.  For  a  time  he  sat  in 
silence,  then  he  said: 

"  I  have  been  reading  of  the  tabernacle, 
and  of  the  sacrifices  therein." 

"  Typical  of  the  death  of  Christ,"  returned 
Yusuf.  "A  constant  emblem  of  that  mind 
which  was,  and  Is  to-day,  ready  to  suffer, 
that  we  may  understand  Its  Infinite  love." 

"  Strange,  strange!"  said  Amzi,  musingly. 
Then  after  a  long  silence:  "  Yusuf,  have 
you  ever  noted  the  resemblance  of  the 
Caaba  to  the  reputed  appearance  of  the  tab- 
ernacle?" 

"The  resemblance  struck  me  from  the  first 
glance  — the    courtyard,    the    temple    itself. 


lives.  God  leaves  us  free  to  choose.  When 
we  come  to  know  him  we  choose  to  be  his 
followers.  If  we  are  Indifferent  to  him,  he 
may,  at  times,  look  on  without  Interfering  . 
in  our  lives  except  to  send  us  occasionally 
great  trouble,  or  great  joy,  as  an  appeal  to 
us.  His  mercy  is  great.  He  pities  and 
pleads  with  us,  yet  he  leaves  us  free." 

"  And  what,  think  you,  will  be  the  effect 
upon  Arabia  of  this  rising?" 

Yusuf  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  not,"  he 
said.  "  We  cannot  see  now,  nor  mayhap 
until  ages  have  rolled  by;  but  '  at  eventide  it 
shall  be  light.'  " 

So  talked  Amzi  and  the  priest  until  the 
gray  dawn  shone  in,  and  the  voice  of  Bilal. 
the  muezzin,  was  heard  calling  from  the 
mosque: 

"  God  is  great!    There  is  no  God  but  God  I 


/ 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


49 


Mohammod  Is  tho  prophet  of  Godi    Come  ^o 
prnyerH!    (JoU  is  great!"  ,  ,.  .  . 


'II' J 


i.i.' ' 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  PERSECUTION  BEGINS. 

"  In  doing  good  we  are  generally  cold  and 
languid  and  slu/glsh.  .  .  Out  the  works  of 
Malice  and  Injustice  are  quite  in  another 
Htylft  "—Burke. 

MONO    those    left 
dead  on  the  field 
of  Bedr  were  the 
father,   uncle  and 
brother  of  Henda. 
the    wife   of   Abu 
Soflan.      Fierce 
'  y      '       and     savage     as 
was  her  nature,  she  was  yet 
capable  of  deep  feeling,  and 
her    love    for    her    kindred 
was  one  of  the  ruling  pas  'ons  of  her  life. 

When  the  caravan  at  1  .st  reached  Mecca 
in  safety,  she  rushed  to  meet  Abu  Soflan, 
weeping  wildly,  wringing  her  hands  in  grief, 
and  throwing  dust  on  her  long  hair.  She 
besought  him  frantically  to  avenge  their 
death,  and  he,  knowing  that  the  debt  of 
"  blood  revenge "  was  now  upon  him,  and 
that  blood  alone  would  wipe  the  stain  from 
his  honor,  gathered  two  hundred  swift 
horsemen  and  set  out  almost  immediately 
for  Medina. 

On  the  way  he  ravaged  the  whole  country, 
burning  the  villages  and  date-groves  of 
Mohammed's  followers. 

When  within  three  miles  of  Medina  the 
prophet  sallied  out  to  meet  him.  A  brief 
contest  took  place,  and  Abu  Soflan  was  once 
more  defeated  in  what  was  Jestingly  called 
the  Battle  of  the  Meal  Sacks. 

The  Moslems  were  exultant  over  their  suc- 
cess, but  Abu  Soflan  returned  to  Mecca,  the 
blood-dues  still  unpaid,  and  with  bitter 
enmity  gnawing  at  his  heart. 

In  the  meantime  Mohammed  began  to  as- 
sume all  the  airs  of  an  independent  sov- 
ereign. He  married  a  beautiful  maiden, 
Hafza,  to  whom  he  entrusted  the  care  of  the 
Koran,  according  as  it  was  revealed;  and 


shortly  afterwardu  he  issued  a  decree  by 
whicii  all  true  believers  were  ordered  to  face 
Mecca  when  praying.  Tlnrn  early  in  Ills 
career  of  coiKjut'st  lie  had  fixed  upon  Mecca 
as  the  future  holy  city  of  the  Moslems.  As 
usual,  the  Koran  was  called  in  to  authorize 
him  in  thus  fl.xing  the  Kebia,  or  point  of 
I)rayer. 

"  Unto  God  belongeth  the  East  and  the 
West.  He  directeth  whom  he  pleaseth  in 
tiie  riglit  way.  Turn,  tiierefore,  thy  face 
towards  the  lioly  temple  of  Mecca;  and 
wiierever  ye  be,  turn  your  faces  towards 
that  place."  •      '        .  ^  ^ 

At  tills  time  also  he  sanctioned  the  retain- 
ing of  file  iioly  fast  of  Ramadhan  and  the 
pilgrimages  connected  tlierewith.  As  ho 
was  well  aware  that  the  doing  away  with 
tiie  great  bazar  upon  which  the  pro.sperlty 
of  Mecca  so  largely  depended  would  loose  a 
host  of  enemies  upon  him,  he  declared: 

"  O  true  believers,  a  fast  is  ordained  you, 
as  it  was  ordained  unto  them  before  you, 
tliat  ye  may  fear  God.  The  month  of 
Ramadlian  siiall  ye  fast,  in  which  the  Koran 
was  sent  down  from  heaven,  a  direction 
unto  men."    *!'" '         •    i?  ''    '  ;?.'•«  ^nr,: 

Henceforth,  during  the  fast,  all  true  be- 
lievers were  to  abstain  from  eating  or  drink- 
ing, and  from  all  eartlily  pleasures,  while 
the  sun  shone  above  the  horizon  and  until 
the  lamps  at  the  mosques  were  lighted  by 
the  Imaums.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the 
Moslems  obviated  this  seif-sacriflce  by 
sleeping  during  the  day  as  much  as  possible, 
giving  the  night  up  to  all  the  proscribed  in- 
dulgences of  the  interdicted  season. 

And  now  Mohammed's  hatred  to  the  Jews 
began  to  show  itself,  and  the  awful  per»«i- 
cution  of  the  little  Jewish  band  in  Medina 
commenced. 

Poor  Dumah  was  one  of  the  first  to  bring 
the  rod  of  wrath  upon  himself.  When  wan- 
dering down  the  street  one  day,  not  very 
long  after  the  Battle  of  Bedr,  he  paused  by 
a  well,  just  as  Mohammed,  accompanied  by 
his  faithful  Zeid,  appeared  in  the  way. 
Dumah  saw  them  and  at  once  began  to  sing 
his  thoughts  in  a  wild,  irregular  lament.  His 
voice  was  peculiarly  sweet  and  clear,  and 


mmaammmm 


50 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


W 


i 


every  word  reached  the  ear  of  the  enraged 
prophet.  Tlie  song  was  a  weird  lameut 
over  those  slain  at  Bedr: 

"  They  are  falleu,  the  good  are  faller. 
Low  in  the  duHt  they  are  fallea; 
Ar  1  their  hair  is  steeped  in  blood: 
Fui  the  poison-wind  shiicku  above  them, 
Sighing  anon  like  th>)  cushat. 
And  breathing  its  curses  upon  him. 
Upon  him.  the  chief  of  impostors. 
As  be  passes  the  leaflets  tremble. 
Au'i  the  flowers  shrink  from  his  pathway; 
And  the  angels  smile  no^  upon  him, 
For  be  mi;keth  the  widow  and  orphan; 
And  the  voice  of  l^achel  riseth 
In  mourning  loud  for  her  children. 
And  no  comfort  doth  fall  upon  her, 
Soft  like  the  balm  of  Gilead.'' 

Turning  to  one  of  his  followers,  Moham- 
med commanded  angrily: 

"  Seize  that  singer!" 

Dumah  heard  the  exclaination,  and  was 
oflF  lilje  the  wind,  followed  by  two  or  three 
Moslems,  each  anxious  to  secure  the  victim 
first,  and  thus  win  the  approval  of  the 
august  Mohammed. 

On,  on,  straight  to  the  house  of  Amzi  fled 
Dumah.  Bursting  oi-u  the  door,  he  rushed 
in,  his  long  hair  disordered,  his  face  purple 
with  running  and  his  eyes  wide  with  terror. 

"  Save  me,  Yusuf !  Save  me,  Amzi!"  he 
crieu.  "  Mohammed  will  kill  me!  Moham- 
med will  kill  me!" 

Yusuf  sprang  to  the  door,  and  the  poor 
fugitive  threw  himself  at  Amzi's  feet, 
clinging  to  his  garments  with  his  thin, 
white  hands. 

But  the  pursuers  were  already  upon  him. 
Yusuf  strove  in  vain  to  detain  them,  to  rea- 
son with  them. 

"  Can  you  not  see  he  is  a  poor  artless  lad? 
Can  you  not  have  mercy?"  he  cried. 

"It  is  the  order  of  the  prophet  of  Allah!" 
was  the  response. 

Yusuf  resisted  their  entrance  with  all  his 
might,  but,  unarmed  as  he  was,  he  was 
quickly  thrown  down,  and  the  terrified 
Dumah  was  dragged  over  his  body  and  hur- 
ried off  to  be  put  in  chains  in  a  Moslem  cell. 

Amzi  was  distracted.  There  seemed  little 
hope  for  Dumah.  The  small  .Jewish  band 
then  in  Medina  co-ild  not  dare  to  cope  with 
the  overwheluil:^''  numbers  of  Moslems  that 


swarmed  in  the  streets.  If  Dumah  were 
delivered  It  must  be  by  stratagem;  and  yet 
what  stratagem  could  be  employed? 

Early  in  the  evening  Amzi  and  the  priest 
withdrew  to  the  roof  for  consultation. 

"  You  believe  that  your  God  is  all-power- 
ful—why do  you  not  beseech  him  for  our 
poor  lad's  safety?"  cried  Amzi  passionately. 

"  I  have  not  ceased  to  do  so  since  his  cap- 
ture," returned  Yusuf.  "  But  it  must  be  as 
the  Lord  willeth.  He  sees  what  is  best. 
Even  our  blessed  Jesus  said  to  the  Father, 
'  Not  my  will,  but  tliine  be  done.' '' 

Amzi  was  not  satisfied.  "  Can  Le  then  be 
the  God  of  Love  that  you  say,  if  he  could 
look  upon  the  death  of  that  poor  innocent 
nor  exercise  his  power  to  save  him?" 

"  Amzi,  I  do  not  wonder  at  yo:'  for  speak- 
ing thus.  Yet  consider.  We  will  hope  the 
best  for  our  poor  singer.  May  God  preserve 
him  and  enable  us,  as  instruments  in  his 
hands,  to  deliver  him.  But  God  may  see 
Uifferently  from  us  in  this  matter.  Who  can 
say  that  to  die  would  not  be  gain  tc  poor 
Dumah?  All  witless  as  he  is,  he  shall  have 
a  perfect  mind  and  a  perfect  body  in  the 
bright  hereafter.  We  know  not  what  Is  well. 
We  can  only  pray  and  do  all  in  our  power 
to  effect  his  deliverance;  we  must  leave  the 
issue  to  God." 

Amzi  bowed  his  head  on  his  hands  and 
groaned.  Yusuf  raised  his  eyes  towards 
heaven;  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks, 
and  his  lips  moved.  Even  he  could  not  un- 
derstand the  mysteries  of  this  r^range  time. 
Yet  he  was  constantly  comforted  In  knowing 
that  "  all  things  work  together  for  good  to 
them  that  love  God." 

Saddest  of  all  was  the  vision  of  the  hand- 
some, dark  face  that,  contorted  in  the  fury 
of  combat,  had  glared  upon  him  from  the 
Moslem  ranks  in  the  Battle  of  Bedr,  while 
Manasseh's  hand  showered  blows  upon  the 
head  of  his  best  friend— for  the  sake  of  the 
prophet  of  Islam.  i;a<   vj'   n>  / 

"Manasseh!  Manasseh!"  he  exclaimed  in 
bitter  sadness.  "  Why  hast  thou  forsaken 
thy  father's  God?  O  heavenly  Father,  do 
thou  guide  him  and  lead  him  again  into  thy 
paths  I'' 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


^ 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AMZI  FINALLY  REJECTS  MOHAMMED. 

"  '  Do  the  duty  which  lies  nearest  thee '  which  thou 
knowest  to  be  a  duty !  Thy  second  duty  will  already 
have  become  clearer."— Car/y/«,  "  Hartor  Besartiu." 

PON  the  following 
morning  Yusuf 
hastened  to  obtain 
an  Interview  with 
Mohammed.  The 
prophet  lived  in  an 
ostentatiously  luim- 
ble  abode  —  a  low, 
broad  building, 
roofed  with  date- 
sticks,  and  thatched  with  the  broad  leaves  of 
the  palm  tree. 

Mohammed  absolutely  refused  to  see  him. 
Ayesha,  the  youngest  and  fairest  of  the 
prophet's  wives,  sent  to  inform  him  that  Mo- 
hammed had  nothing  to  say  to  the  Christian 
Yusuf.  So  with  heavy  heart  he  turned  away 
and  sought  the  house  of  Zeld,  deeming  that 
he,  as  the  prophet's  adopted  son  and  most 
devoted  follower,  might  have  some  influence 
in  obtaining  Dumah's  release. 

Zeld  sat  in  a  low,  airy  apartment,  through 
whose  many  open  windows  a  cool  breeze 
entered.  By  him  sat  his  newly-wedded  wife, 
unveilec^.  for  at  that  time  the  rules  In  regard 
to  veiling  were  not  so  strictly  insisted  upon 
as  at  a  later  day,  when  the  prophet's  decree 
against  the  unveiling  of  women  was  more 
rigorously  enforced. 

Even  Yusuf  noted  her  marvelous  beauty. 
There  was  a  peculiarity  of  action,  a  some- 
thing familiar  about  her,  too,  which  gave 
him  a  hazy  recollection  of  having  seen  her 
before;  but  not  lor  several  moments  did  the 
association  come  up  in  his  memory,  and  he 
saw  again  the  little  .Ie\vI^5h  home  of  Nathan 
in  Mecca,  the  dim  light,  and  the  beautiful 
child  whose  temples  Nathan's  wife  was  so 
tenderly  bathing.  Yen,  after  the  lapse  of 
years,  in  a  i^nsh  he  knew  her  for  Zeinab! 

She  listened  with  interest  to  the  tale  of 
the  Jewish  singer;  but  tliere  was  a  heart- 
lessness  in  her  air,  and  a  certain  contempt 
in  the  look  which  she  ben^  upon  the  Chris- 


tian who  was  tlius  making  intercession  for 
an  unworthy  Jew.  •     '  '         ■  : ' 

"  1  have  neither  eyes  to  see,  tongue  to 
speak,  nor  hands  to  act,  save  as  the  prophet 
is  pleased  to  direct  mo."  was  Zeld's  reply,  in 
the  most  determined  tone.  ' 

Yusuf,  seeing  no  lioi)e,  left  the  house,  and 
shortly  afterwards  Zeid.  too,  went  down 
into  the  town.  Scarcely  had  he  left  when 
Mohammed  entered. 

Zeinab  was  still  at  the  window,  which 
opened  directly  on  the  courtyard.  A  myrtle 
bush  grew  near,  and  she  listlessly  plucked 
some  of  the  white  blossoms  and  twined 
them  in  the  braids  of  her  glossy  black  hair. 
She  wore  a  loose  gown  of  sky-blue  silk  with 
a  drape  of  crimson,  and  deep  pointed  sleeves 
of  filmy,  white  lace.  Her  veil  was  cast 
aside,  and  when  the  prophet  entered  she 
turned  her  magnificent  dark  eyes,  with  their 
shading  of  kohl,  full  upon  him. 

Ever  susceptible  to  the  infiuence  of  beauty, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Praise  be  God,  who  turneth 
the  hearts  of  men  as  he  pleaseth!"  And  he 
at  once  coveted  her  for  his  wife;  although 
according  to  law  she  bore  the  relation  of 
daughter  to  him. 

He  intimated  his  desire  to  All,  who,  in 
turn,  broke  the  news  to  Zeid.  Zeid  returned 
pale  and  trembling  to  his  home.  He  lovel  his 
wife  deeply;  yet  his  devotion  to  the  prophet 
and  the  sense  of  obligation  which  he  owed 
him  as  foster-father,  for  having  free<l  him 
from  servitude,  appealed  to  him  strongly. 
Bowing  his  head  upon  his  wife's  knee,  he 
wept.  '  ■   '.i  .'■..'  '■■"'■■^  ■'■'•''•  '■'."'■  ^'■' 

"  Why  do  you  weep,  Zeld?"  she  asked. 

"  Alas!"  he  cried,  "  t»ould  one  who  has 
ki'own  thee  as  wife  forbear  to  weep  at  hav- 
hig  thee  leave  hira?"  '  ' 

"  But  I  will  never  leave  my  Zeid." 

"  Not  even  to  become  the  wife  of  the 
propiict?" 

"  Mohammed  does  not  want  me  for  his 
wife."  she  said  quickly. 

Zeid  sighed.  "  Could  you  be  happy  were 
you  his  wife?"  he  aslced. 

The  beauty's  ambitious  si>irit  ro«e,  but  she 
only  said:  "  Wore  T  made  his  wife,  It  would 
be  the  will  of  Allah." 


52 


TEE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


Zeld  pushed  her  gently  from  him,  and  went 
out.  "  Mohammed,"  he  said,  seating  himself 
at  the  prophet's  feet,  "  you  care  for  Zeinab 
I  come  to  offer  her  to  you.  Obtain  for  yc  i 
poor  Zeld  a  writ  of  divorce." 

The  prophet's  face  showed  his  satis- 
faction. "  I  could  never  accept  such  a  sac- 
rifice," he  said,  hesitatingly. 

"  My  life,  my  all,  even  to  my  beloved  wife, 
belongs  to  my  master,"  returned  Zeid.  "  His 
pleasure  stands  to  me  before  aught  else." 

"So  be  it,  then,  most  faithful,"  said  the 
prophet.  "  O  Zeid,  my  more  than  son,  a 
glorious  reward  is  withheld  for  you."      ;  ..,, 

Then,  as  ever,  a  revelation  of  the  Koran 
came  seasonably  ere  another  day,  to  remove 
every  impediment  to  the  imion  of  Moham- 
med and  Zeinab.  i>  '  rl 

"  But  when  Zeid  had  determined  the  mat- 
ter concerning  her,  and  had  resolved  to 
divorce  her,  we  joined  her  in  marriage  unto 
thee,  lest  a  crime  should  be  charged  on  the 
true  believers  in  marrying  the  wives  of  their 
adopted  sons:  and  the  command  of  God  is  to 
be  performed.  No  crime  is  to  be  charged  on 
the  prophet  as  to  what  God  hath  allowed 
him."  ■:,*,(    r-.  :   ^:S.-K^ 

There  were  those  in  Medina  who  resented 
Mohammed's  selfishness  in  thus  appropriat- 
ing Zeinab  to  himself,  and  there  were  those 
who  questioned  the  honor  of  such  a  proceed- 
ing; but  this  questioning  went  on  mostly 
among  the  few  Bedouin  adherents  who  had 
flocked  into  the  town  in  his  service,  for  the 
most  sacred  oath  of  the  highest  class  of 
Bedouins  has  long  been,  "  By  the  honor  of 
my  women!" 

In  none  did  the  prophet's  action  inspire 
more  disgust  than  In  our  two  friends,  Yusuf 
and  Amzi.  Amzi  had  long  since  lost  all  faith 
In  the  prophet  as  a  divine  representative; 
and  this  marriage  Avith  Zeihab  only  con- 
firmed his  distrust. 

"  rah!"  he  said  to  Yusuf,  "  he  not  only  lets 
his  own  impulses  sway  him,  but  he  uses  the 
sanction  of  heaven  to  authorize  the  satisfac- 
tion of  every  desire,  no  matter  who  is 
trampled  upon  in  the  proceeding.  Was  there 
ever  such  sacrilege?" 

Yusuf  returned:  "  For  this  I  am  thankful. 


brother:  that  you  at  last  apply  the  term 
'  sacrilege '  to  the  claims  of  this  impostor." 

"  Think  you  he  is  no  longer  in  earnest  at 
all  for  the  raising  of  his  countrymen  from 
Idolatry?"  ^  '      ' 

"  He  seeks  to  throw  down  idols,  but  to 
raise  himself  in  their  stead.  Cupidity  and 
ambition,  Amzi,  have  well-nigh  smothered 
every  struggling  seed  of  good  in  Moham- 
med's haughty  bosom."  , 

"  Do  you  not  think  that,  at  the  beginning, 
he  imagined  himself  inspired?" 

"  Mohammed  is  strangely  visionary.  At 
the  beginning  he,  doubtless,  thought  he  saw 
visions,  but,  if  the  man  thinks  himself  in- 
spired now,  he  is  mad." 

"  Yet  what  a  personality  he  has!"  said 
Amzi,  musingly.  "  What  a  charm  he  bears! 
How  his  least  word  is  suflicient  to  move  this 
crowd  of  howling  fanatics!" 

"  A  man  who  might  be  an  angel  of  light, 
were  he  truly  under  divine  guidance,"  re- 
turned Yusuf.  "  And,  mark  me,  Amzi,  his 
influence  will  not  stop  with  this  generation. 
The  influence  of  every  man  on  God's  earth 
goes  on  ever-rolling,  ever-unceasing,  down 
the  long  tide  of  eternity;  but,  in  every  age, 
there  are  those  who,  like  Mohammed,  pos- 
sess such  an  individuality,  such  a  per- 
sonality, that  their  power  goes  on  increasing, 
crashing  like  the  avalanche  down  my  n;itlve 
mountains." 

"  How  eloquently  such  a  thought  appeals 
to  right  impulse,  right  action!"  said  Amzi, 
thoughtfully.  "  Did  a  man  realize  its  import 
fully,  he  would  surely  be  spurred  on  to  act, 
not  to  sit  idly  letting  the  world  drift  by." 

" '  No  man  liveth  unto  himself,' "  said 
Yusuf  slowly.  "  Whether  we  will  it  or  not, 
we  are  each  of  us  ever  exerting  some  influ- 
ence for  good  or  for  ill  upon  those  with  whom 
we  come  in  contact.  No  ore  can  be  neutral. 
Acts  often  speak  in  thunder-tones,  when 
mere  words  are  heard  but  in  whispers." H-v 

"  I  fear  me,  Yusuf,"  said  the  Meccan,  with 
a  half-smile,  "  that  Amzi  has  neither  thun- 
dered in  action,  nor  even  whispered  in 
words.  So  little  good  has  he  done,  that  he  al- 
most hates  to  think  of  your  great  influence 
theory." 


TEE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


53 


Ynsuf  smiled  and  slipped  his  arm  about 
the  Meccan's  shoulder.  •'  Amzi,  the  name  of 
'  benevolent '  belies  your  words,"  he  said. 
"  Think  you  that  your  home  duties  faithfully 
performed,  your  pure  and  upright  life,  pass 
for  naught?" 

"  You  would  stand  aghast,  Yusuf,"  re- 
turned Amzi,  "  If  I  told  you  the  amount  of 
time  that  I  have  squandered,  simply  in 
dreaming,  smoking,  and  taking  my  ease." 

"Time  is  a  precious  gift,"  replied  Yusuf, 
"  it  flows  on  and  on  as  a  great  river  towards 
the  sea,  and  never  returns.  It  api>ears  to 
me,  every  day,  more  clearly  as  the  talent 
given  to  all  men  to  be  used  rightly.  I,  as  well 
as  you,  have  let  precious  hours  pass,  and,  in 
doing  so,  we  have  both  done  wrong.  Yet  I 
pray  that  we  may  every  day  see,  more  and 
more,  the  necessity  of  well  occupying  the 
hours,—*  redeeming  the  time,  because  the 
days  are  evil.'"  '       '        '     '  *  '  * '     - 

"  Would  that  I  had  your  decision  of  pur- 
pose, your  firmness  of  will!"  said  Amzi,  wist- 
fully. "Yusuf,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
me  to  spend  all  my  time  as  you  do,— visit- 
ing, relieving,  studying,  speaking  ever  the 
word  in  season,  and  ever  working  for  others. 
I  should  miss  my  kaif." 

"  Even  if  you  know  it  was  in  the  cause  of 
the  Lord?"  asked  Yusuf,  m  ith  gentle  reproof. 
"  Yet,  Amzi,  you  have  done  as  much  as  I, 
considering  your  opportunities.  The  great 
thing  is  to  do  faithfully  whatever  comes  to 
one's  hand,  whether  that  be  great  or  small. 
Know  you  not  that  it  was  said  to  him  who 
had  received  only  two  talents,  '  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant;  thou  hast  been 
faithful  over  a  few  things,  I  will  make  thee 
ruler  over  many  things.'  As  bright  crowns 
await  the  humble  home-workers  as  the  great 
movers  of  earth,  provided  all  be  done  '  as 
unto  the  Lord.' " 

"  But,"  returned  Amzi.  Impatiently.  "  my 
*  good  works,'  as  you  call  them,  linve  not 
been  done  *  as  unto  the  Lord.'  My  charities 
have  been  done  simply  because  the  sight  of 
misery  caused  me  to  feel  unhappy.  I  felt 
pity  for  the  wretched,  and  in  relieving  them 
set  my  own  mind  at  ease,  and  gave  satisfac- 
tion to  myself.    I  feel  that  It  is  right  to  do 


certain  things,  and  so  I  do  them  under  a 
sense  of  moral  obligation." 

"Then,"  said  Yusuf,  "has  this  acting 
under  a  sense  of  moral  obligation  brought 
you  perfect  satisfaction,  perfect  rest?" 

"  Frankly,  it  has  not." 

STusuf  rose,  and,  placing  both  hands  on 
Amzi's  shoulders,  said  earnestly:  "  My 
friend,  who  can  say  that  every  good  impulse 
of  man  may  not  be  an  outcome  of  the  divine 
nature  implanted  In  him  by  the  Creator,  and 
which,  if  watered  and  developed,  will  surely 
burst  into  the  flower  of  goodness  when 
once  the  Influence  of  God's  Spirit  is  fully 
recognized  and  ever  Invoked?  Amzi,  you 
have  many  such  seeds  of  innate  good.  Your 
vei-y  longings  for  good,  your  tone  of  late, 
show  me  that  you  are  near  this  blessed 
recognition.  Why  will  you  not  believe?  Why 
will  you  not  embrace  the  liord  .Tesus  Christ? 
We  are  all  weak  of  ourselves,  but  we  have 
strength  in  him.  Amzi,  my  friend,  pray  for 
yourself." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left  Amzi  alone,  to 
ponder  long  and  earnestly  over  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  past  hour.  -       .  ^w,....    rv^ 

!     it  'p-'iV^    *?'!?-!    '.ft'^- 

CHAPTER  XVIL      '•     '  '  '     /^ 

THE  FATE  OF  DUMAH. 

"  Death  Is  the  liberator  of  him  whom  freedom  can- 
not release,  the  physician  of  him  whom  medicine  can- 
not cure,  and  the  comforter  of  him  whom  time  cannot 
console."— C'o/<o». 

now  began  a  veritable 
reign  of  terror  for  the 
Jews  of  Medina.  The 
first  evidence  of  the 
closing  of  Moham- 
med's iron  hand  was 
shown  in  his  forcing 
them  to  make  Mecca, 
rather  than  Jerusa- 
lem, their  kebla,  or 
point  of  prayer.  Many  refused  to  obey  this 
command,  and  were  consequently  dragged 
off  to  await  the  pleasure  of  the  prophet. 

At  first  the  keenest  edge  of  Moslem  vln- 
dictiveness  seemed  to  be  directed  against  the 
bards  or  poets,  for  the  power  of  stirring  and 


ND 


r 


54 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


pathetic  poetry  In  arousing  tlie  passionate 
Oriental  blood  to  revenge  was  recognized  as 
an  instrument  too  potent  to  be  overloolced. 

Ere  long  even  the  form  of  imprisonment 
was,  to  a  great  extent,  set  aside,  and  the 
knife  of  the  assassin  was  set  at  worli. 
Among  tliose  who  thus  fell  were  Kaab,  a 
Jewish  poet  who  strove  to  incite  the  Koreish 
to  aggressive  measures  against  the  Moslems; 
and  Assina,  a  young  woman  who  had  been 
guilty  of  writing  satires  directed  against  the 
prophet  himself.         '.  r 

Yusuf  and  Amzi  became  greatly  alarmed 
for  tlie  safety  of  Dumah.  Every  possible 
means  of  rendering  assistance  to  the  poor 
singer  seemed  to  be  cut  off.  They  could  not 
even  find  any  clue  to  his  wherqabouts,  and 
feared  that  he.  too,  had  fallen  beneath  some 
treacherous  blade. 

As  yet,  Amzi  and  Yusuf  had  been  per- 
mitted to  wander  at  will.  For  hours  and 
hours  did  tliey  roam  about  the  streets  seek- 
ing for  some  clue  to  Dumah's  place  of  im- 
prisonment, but  all  efforts  were  futile,  until 
one  day  Amzi  heard  a  faint  voice  singing  in 
the  cellar  of  one  of  the  Moslem  buildings. 
He  lay  down  by  the  wall,  closed  his  eyes, 
and  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the  sound. 
It  was  assuredly  Dumah,  singing  weakly: 


"  Oh.  why  win  they  not  come, 
The  friends  of  Dumuhl 
For  living  death  Is  upon  him, 
And  the  walla  of  his  tomb  dose  over, 
Yet  will  not  In  mercy  fall  on  him. 
Does  the  sun  shine  still  on  the  mountain, 
And  the  trees  wave? 
Do  the  birds  still  sing  in  the  palm-trees, 
And  the  flowers  still  bloom  In  Kuba?  ^ 

And  yet  doth  Dumah  languish 

"  Hut  Dumah's  friends  have  forgotten  him, 
Nor  seek  him  more. 
And  even  the  angols  vanish, 
And  the  tomb  is  all  about  him: 
O  Death,  come,  haste  to  Dumah  I*' 


Ji.i 


The  voice  sank  away  in  a  low  wall,  and 
Amzi  sprang  up.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
rush  in  and  batter  at  the  door  of  Dumah's 
cell;  his  second,  to  call  words  of  comfort 
through  the  wall.  Yet  either  would  be  im- 
prudent and  might  ruin  all,  so  he  hastened 
home  to  Yusuf. 

"  I  will  go  to  him  immediately,"  said  the 
priest. 


"But  how?" 

"  In  disguise  If  need  be,"  was  the  reply. 

"  In  disguise  1"  exclaimed  Amzi.  "  Friend, 
\\  ith  your  physique,  think  you  you  can  dis- 
guise yourself?  Not  a  Moslem  in  Mecca  who 
does  not  know  the  figure  of  Yusuf  the 
Christian.  Nay,  Yusuf.  your  friend  Amzi 
can  effect  a  disguise  much  more  easily. 
Here,"— running  his  fingers  through  his  gray 
beard,—"  a  few  grains  of  black  dye  can  soon 
transform  this;  some  stain  will  change  the 
Meccan's  ruddy  cheeks  into  the  brown  of  a 
desert  Arab.    The  thing  is  easy." 

"As  you  will,  then,"  said  the  priest;  and 
the  two  were  soon  busy  at  work  at  the  trans- 
forming process. 

With  the  garb  of  a  Moslem  soldier,  Amzi 
was  soon,  to  all  appearance,  a  passable  Mus- 
sulman, with  divided  beard,  and  chocolate- 
brown  skin. 

He  set  out,  and,  having  arrived  at  the  door 
of  the  sort  of  barracks  in  which  Dumah  was 
imprisoned,  mingled  with  the  soldiers,  quite 
unnoticed  among  the  new  arrivals  who  con- 
stantly swelled  the  prophet's  army.      , 

With  the  greatest  difficulty,  yet  without 
exciting  apparent  suspicion,  he  found  out  the 
exact  spot  in  Avhich  Dumah  was  confined. 
Upon  the  first  opportunity  he  slipped  noise- 
lessly after  the  attendant  who  was  carrying 
the  prisoner's  pittance  of  food.  Under  his 
robe  he  had  tools  for  excavating  a  hole  be- 
neath the  wall,  and  his  plan  was  to  step 
silently  into  the  room,  secrete  himself  behind 
the  door,  and  permit  hims<'if  to  be  locked  in, 
trusting  to  subsequent  efforts  for  effecting 
the  freedom  of  himself  and  Dumah. 

Silently  he  glided  into  the  darkened  room 
behind  the  keeper.  All  within  seemed  dark 
as  night  after  the  brighter  light  without; 
but  Dumah's  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness, could  see  more  clearly.  He  penetrated 
the  disguise  at  once, 

"Amzi!    Amzi!"  he  cried  out  delightedly, ^ 
"you  have  come!    You  have  come!" 

Amzi  knew  that  all  was  undone. 

"Treachery!"  called  the  keeper. 

The  Moslems  came  pouring  into  the  room. 
Amzi  was  overpowered,  and  pinioned  on  the 
spot. 


V? 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


55 


"What  moans  this?"  cried  Asru,  the  cap- 
tain of  the  guard. 

"  Treachery,  if  it  please  you,"  returned  the 
keeper.  "  An  asp  which  has  been  in  our 
camp  with  its  pol«on-fang8  hid!  No  Moslem, 
but  an  enemy— a  friend  of  this  dotard  poet!" 

"Search  him!"  was  the  order. 

The  tools  were  found. 

"Aha!"  said  the  captain.  "Most  con- 
clusive proof,  wretch!  We  will  teach  you, 
knave,  that  foxes  are  sometimes  trapped  In 
their  ovn  wiles.    Off  with  him!    Chain  him!" 

Amzi  was  hurried  off,  and  Asru  strode 
away  to  execute  some  other  act  of  so-called 
justice.  He  was  a  man  of  immense  stature, 
heavy-featured,  and  covered  with  pock- 
marks,  yet  his  face  was  full  of  strength  of 
character,  and  bore  traces  of  candor  and 
honesty,  though  the  lines  about  the  mouth 
told  of  unrestrained  cruelty  and  passion. 

At  home  Yusuf  waited  in  an  agony  of  sus- 
pense. The  day  passed  into  night,  the  night 
into  day,  the  day  into  night  again,  yet  Amji 
did  not  come.  Yusuf  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
Anything  was  better  than  this  awful  wait- 
ing. Only  once  he  almost  gave  up  hope  and 
cried  in  the  words  of  the  Psalmist,  "  O  Lord, 
why  castest  thou  off  my  soul?  Why  hidest 
thou  thy  face  from  me?"  Then  like  balm  of 
healing  came  the  words.  "Cast  thy  burden 
upon  the  Lord,  and  he  will  sustain  thee;  he 
shall  never  suffer  the  righteous  to  be 
moved." 

Dressed  in  his  quiet,  scholarly  raiment, 
and  quite  unarmed,  he  set  out  in  search  of 
Amzi.  Arriving  at  the  place,  he  saw  none 
wliom  he  knew.  He  was  stopped  ar  the 
door. 

"  I  wish  to  see  the  captain  who  has  com- 
mand here,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  a  peaceable-looking  citizen 
enough,"  said  a  guard,  "  5  et  we  have  orders 
to  search  all  new-comers,  and  you  will  liave 
to  submit,  stranger." 

Yusuf  was  searched,  but  as  neither  arms 
nor  tools  were  found  upon  him,  he  was  al- 
lowed to  have  audience  with  the  captain. 

"Ah!"  said  Asru,  recognizing  him  at  once. 
"What  seeks  Yusuf.  a  Cliristian.  of  a  fol- 
lower of  Mohammed  the  prophet?" 


"  I  seek  but  the  deliverance  of  two  harm- 
less, inoffensive  friends,"  he  replied. 

"  A  bold  request,  truly,"  said  the  other. 
"  Yet  have  I  not  forgotten  my  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  you.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  it 
was  Yusuf  who  nursed  me  through  the  foul 
disease  whose  marks  I  yet  bear,  when  all 
others  fled;"  and  he  passed  his  liand  over  his 
pock-marked  face. 

"  Of  that  speak  not,"  returned  Yusuf,  with 
a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  'Twas  but  the  ser- 
vice which  any  man  with  a  heart  may  ren- 
der to  a  needy  brotlier.  However,  if  you  are 
grateful,  as  you  say,  you  can  more  than  re- 
pay the  del)t,  you  can  make  me  indebted  to 
you,  by  telling  me  aught  of  Amzi,  the 
benevolent  Mecca n,  whose  hand  would  not 
take  the  life  of  a  worm  were  he  not  forced 
into  it." 

"  He  is  here  In  chains,"  said  Asru  haught- 
ily, "  as  every  spy  who  enters  a  Moslem 
camp  should  be." 

"  Amzi  is  no  spy!"  declared  Yusuf  emphat- 
ically. 

"  His  sole  object,  then,  was  to  free  that 
half-witted  poet?"  asked  Asru,  incredu- 
lously. 

'  It  was  none  other.  He  loves  him  as  his 
jwn  son,  as  do  I.  Amzi  would  suffer  death 
willingly,  Yusuf  Avould  suffer  death  will- 
ingly, would  it  spare  that  poor,  confiding 
Innocent!" 

The  priest's  eyes  were  flashing,  and  his 
tones  bore  witness  to  his  earnestness.  He 
did  not  notice,  nor  did  Asru,  a  pair  of 
bright  eyes  that  peered  at  him  from  the 
chink  of  tlie  doorway;  he  did  not  know  that 
a  face  full  of  petty,  vindictive  spite  was 
partially  hidden  by  the  darkness  without,  or 
that  tAvo  lieen  ears  were  listening  to  every 
word  he  said. 

"  Yusuf,"  returned  the  captain  In  a  low 
tone,  "  you  are  the  only  man  who  has  ever 
seemed  to  me  good.  Your  words,  at  least, 
are  ever  truth.  You  wonder,  then,  that  I 
follow  the  prophet?  Simply  because  the  e.v- 
citement  of  war  suits  me,  and  "—he  shrugged 
his  slioulders  with  a  laugh— "It  Is  the  best 
policy  to  be  on  the  winning  side.  Most  of 
these  crazed  idiots  believe  in  him,  and  fear 


>f^■I^^^MylWl  y  upw  wsfai 


i 


56 


TEE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED, 


I! 


that  he  will  work  enchantments  upon  them 
if  they  do  not;  but  the  doctrine  of  the  sword 
and  of  plunder  goes  farther  with  a  few,  of 
whom  Asru  Is  one.  Because  I  believe  In 
you,  Yusuf,  I  shall  try  to  carry  out  your 
request.  But  it  would  cost  me  ray  life  were 
it  found  out,  so  it  must  be  seemingly  by 
chance.  Rest  assured  that,  bad  as  I  am, 
cruel  as  I  am,  I  shall  see  that  Yusuf's 
friends  have  some  '  accidental '  way  of  es- 
cape." 

So  spoke  Asru,  nor  knew  that  a  pair  of 
feet  were  hurrying  and  shuffling  towards 
the  prophet,  while  a  soldier  kept  guard  at 
the  door. 

"  May  heaven  bless  you  for  this!"  cried 
the  priest.  "  So  long  as  Amzi  and  Yusuf 
breathe  you  shall  not  lack  an  earthly 
friend." 

"  Tush!"  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  'Tis  but 
the  wish  to  make  old  scores  even.  You 
serve  me;  I  serve  you.    We  are  even." 

"  Then  I  shall  leave  you,"  said  Yusuf,  ris- 
ing with  a  smile. 

Asru  opened  the  door.  '  v     '    ■        i  •• 

"  Hold!"  cried  a  guard.  "  By  order  of  the 
prophet,  Asru  is  my  prisoner!" 

"Wherefore?"  cried  Asru,  attempting  to 
seize  his  dagger. 

"  Because,  though  it  is  politic  to  be  on  the 
winning  side,  it  is  not  always  safe  to  be  a 
traitor  and  to  countermand  Moliammed's 
orders,"  replied  the  prophet's  musical  voice, 
as  the  soldiers  gave  way  to  permit  his  ad- 
vance. 

Asru  freed  himself  and  dashed  forward, 
wielding  his  dagger  right  and  left,  but  it 
was  a  rash  effort.  He  was  instantly  over- 
powered and  bound  hand  and  foot.  The 
priest  shared  the  same  fate. 

The  prophet  looked  down  upon  the  captain, 
"  Asru,"  he  said,  "  you  whom  I  deemed  a 
most  faithful  one,  you  who  have  pro>'^ed 
false,  know  that  death  is  the  meed  o<  a 
traitor.  Yet  that  you  may  know  Moham- 
med can  show  mercy,  I  give  you  your  life. 
For  the  sake  of  your  past  services  I  grant 
It  you,  and  trust  that,  having  learned  obedi- 
ence and  humility,  you  may  once  again 
grace  our  battle-fields  nobly.    Guards,  chain 


him,  yet  see  that  he  Is  kept  In  easy  confine- 
ment and  lacks  nothing.    Send  me  Uzza." 

The  Oman  Arab  came  forward.  He  was 
a  dark-browed  man,  under-sized,  and  with 
one  shoulder  higher  than  the  other.  His 
eyes  were  long  and  narrow,  with  a  look  of 
extreme  cunning  ^uv^  •■.  them,  and  his  mouth 
was  cruel,  his  lips  being  pressed  together  so 
tightly  that  they  looked  like  a  long  white 
line. 

"  Upon  you,  Uzza,  O  faithful,  as  next  In 
command,  I  confer  the  honor  of  the  position 
left  vacant  by  Asru.  Do  thou  carry  out  Its 
obligations  with  honor  to  thyself  and  to  the 
prophet  of  Allah." 

Uzza  prostrated  himself  to  the  ground. 

Mohammed  turned  to  lusuf.  "  Whom 
have  we  here?  What  said  you  in  your  ac- 
cusation, Abraham?  An  accomplice  of  Asru, 
was  it?" 

The  little  peddler,  the  silent  watcher  at 
the  door,  came  forward,  hopping  along  as 
usual,  but  with  malignant  triumph  In  his 
face. 

"  This,  O  prophet,"  he  said,  making  obei- 
sance, "  is  not  only  an  accomplice  of  Asru, 
but  a  sworn  enemy  of  the  prophet  of  Allah 
and  of  all  who  believe  in  him." 

"  Why,  methinks  I  have  seen  him  before," 
said  Mohammed,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
brow.  "  Is  not  this  the  gentle  friend  of 
Amzi?" 

"  He  is  the  friend  of  Amzi,"  returned  the 
Jew,  "  but  even  Amzi  lies  in  chains  as  a  spy 
among  the  Moslems." 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  the  prophet.  "  Yet 
what  harm  hath  this  gentle  Meccan  done?" 

"  He  is  Yusuf,  the  Magian  priest,"  said 
the  Jew.  "  And  believe,  O  prophet  of  Allah, 
the  Magians  are  your  most  bitter  enemies," 

Uzza  started  and  leaned  forward  with  In- 
tense Interest.  Yusuf  felt  his  burning  gaze 
fixed  on  his  face. 

"  What  proof  have  you  that  this  Is  a 
Magian  priest?"  asked  the  prophet,  wearily. 

"  See!"  exclaimed  the  Jew. 

He  tore  back  the  priest's  garment,  and 
there  was  the  red  mark  of  the  torch  outlined 
distinctly  against  the  white  skin. 

"  Ha!"  cried  Uzza,  starting  forward,  the 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


57 


veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  with  excite- 
ment. "  The  very  niarlj!  The  secret  marlj 
of  the  priests  among  those  who  worsliip  flre 
and  the  sun!  This,  O  Mohammed,  is  not 
only  a  priest,  but  a 
priest  who  has  fed  tlie 
temple  fires,  and  as 
such  has  been  pledged 
to  uphold  the  Guebre 
religion  at  whatever 
cost." 

Yusuf  said  nothing. 

"Can  you  not  speali, 
Yusuf?"  aslced  Mo- 
hammed. '•  Have  you 
no  word  to  say  to  all 
this?" 

"It  is  all  true,  O 
Mohammed,"  replied 
Yusuf,  quietly.  "It  is 
true  that  in  my  youth- 
ful days  I  was  a 
priest  at  Guebre 
altars.  Now,  I  am 
not  Yusuf  the  Magian 
priest,  but  Yusuf  the 
Christian,  and  a  hum- 
ble follower  of  our 
Most  High  God  and 
his  Son  Jesus." 

"Dare  you  thus 
pioclaim  yourself  a 
Christian  to  my  very 
face?"  exclaimed  Mo- 
hammed. "Magian 
or  Christian,  ye  are 
all  alike  enemies.  Off 
with  him!  Do  with 
him  as  you  will,  Uzza, 
—yet,"  relenting,  "  I 
commend  him  to  your 
mercy."  He  turned 
abruptly  and  left  the 
apartment.  r.      r  tt- 

Yusuf  was  immediately  talcen  and  thrown 
into  a  close,  darlc  room.  He  was  still  bound 
hand  and  foot. 

The  little  Jew  entered,  and  sat  down  with 
his  head  on  one  side. 

"  Now,  proud  Yusuf,"  he  said,  "  has  come 


Abraham's  day.  Once  it  was  Yusuf's  day; 
then  the  poor  peddler,  tlie  little  dervish,  was 
scourged  and  ciiained,  and  well-nigli  smoth- 
ered in  that  vile  Meccan  chamber.    Now  it 


Si 


f* 


I 


i 


Hi 


"  He  knows  that  Usuf  s  hands  reek  with  blood,"  said  Uzza.— See  page  58. 


has  come  Abraham's  day,  and  Yusuf  and 
Abraham  will  be  even.  How  does  this  suit 
your  angelic  constitution?  Angelic  as  you 
are,  you  cannot  slip  through  chains  and 
bolted  doors  so  easily  as  the  little  Jew.  Oh, 
Yusuf,  are  you  not  happy?    Uzza  hates  you; 


mm 


■ff 


' 


58 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


I'! 

it 


11 


I 


llil 


II 


I  saw  It  In  his  face.  Did  you  ever  know  him 
before?"  The  Jew's  propensity  for  news 
was  to  the  fore  as  usual. 

Yusuf  answered  nothing. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  Jew,  giving  him  a 
shake.  "  what  does  Uzza  know  of  you?" 

"  He  knows,"  said  a  thin,  grating  voice 
from  behind,  "  that  Yusuf's  hands  reek  with 
the  blood  of  Uzza's  only  child,  the  fair  little 
Imra,  murdered  in  tlie  cause  of  religion;  and 
ere  I  could  reach  him— yes,  priest,  with 
vengeance  in  my  heart,  for  had  I  found  you 
then  your  blood  would  have  blotted  out  the 
stain  of  my  child's  on  your  altar!— the  false 
priest  had  fled,  forsaken  the  reeking  altar, 
left  It  black  In  ashes,  black  as  his  own  false 
heart.  And  then,  that  vengeance  might  be 
satisfied,  was  Uzza's  blade  turned  against 
the  aged  grandmother  who  had  delivered 
the  little  one  up  to  Persian  gods.  O  priest, 
your  work  is  past,  but  not  forgotten!" 

"  Uzza."  cried  the  priest,  "  I  neither  ask 
nor  hope  for  mercy.  Yet  would  God  I  could 
restore  you  your  child!  Its  smile  and  its 
death  gurgle  have  haunted  my  dreams 
through  these  long  years!  'Twas  in  my 
heathendom  I  did  it!" 

"That  excuse  will  not  give  her  back  to 
me,"  said  Uzza,  stepping  out  of  the  room 
with  the  Jew,  as  the  warden  came  with  the 
keys. 

It  was  not  Uzza's  purpose  to  bring  about 
Yusuf's  speedy  death.  As  the  cat  torments 
the  mouse  which  lias  fallen  into  its  power, 
so  he  resolved  to  keep  the  priest  on  the  rack 
for  a  considerable  length  of  time. 

Hearing  of  the  conversation  between  him 
and  Asm,  he  knew  that  exquisite  torture 
could  be  inflicted  on  the  priest  through 
Dumah,  and  determined  to  strike  at  him 
first  through  the  poor  singer.  Dumah's  exe- 
cution was,  accordingly,  o'au'ed. 

Early  one  morning,  Amzi.  looking  out  of  a 
little  chink  in  his  window  through  which  the 
bare  court-yard  below  was  visible,  was  hor- 
rified to  see  a  scene  revolting  In  its  every 
detail,  and  over  which  we  shall  hasten  as 
speedily  as  may  be. 

There  In  the  gray  morning  light  stood  Yu- 
suf, bound  and   forced   to  look  on   at  the* 


death  of  the  bright-haired  singer,  whose 
sunny  smile  had  been  as  a  ray  of  sunshine 
to  the  two  men. 

Amzi  looked  on  as  If  turned  to  stone- 
heard  Dumah's  last  cheerful  words,  "  Do  not 
weep,  YuHuf ;  It  will  be  all  flowers,  all  angels, 
soon.  Dumah  is  going  home  happy,"— then 
he  fell  on  his  face,  and  so  lay  for  hours  un- 
conscious of  all.  Reason  came  slowly  back, 
and  he  realized  that  another  of  the  trage- 
dies only  too  common  in  those  perilous  days 
had  taken  place. 

"  I  am  going  home  happy,"  rang  In  his 
ears.  The  cold  moonlight  crept  in,  shining 
In  a  dead  silver  bar  on  the  ceiling.  Amzi 
lay  looking  at  it,  until  It  seemed  a  path  of 
glory  leading,  for  Dumah's  feet,  through  the 
window  and  up  to  heaven. 

"  I  am  going  home  happy."  Was  that  home 
Amzi's  home  too?  Ah,  he  had  never  thought 
of  it  as  his  home,  though  he  remembered  the 
words—"  In  my  Father's  house  are  niany 
mansions."  He  imagined  he  saw  Dumah  in 
one  of  those  bright  mansions,  happy  in 
eternal  love  and  sunshine,  while  he,  Amzi, 
was  without. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Amzi  was  con- 
cerned deeply  about  his  soul;  and  now  there 
was  no  Yusuf  to  answer  his  questions.  Ere 
another  day  had  passed  he,  too,  might  be 
called  upon  to  undergo  Dumah's  fate.  He 
could  not  say  "  I  am  going  home  happy." 
How,  then,  might  tills  blessed  assurance  be 
his?  He  strove  to  remember  Yusuf's  words, 
but  they  seemed  to  flit  away  from  his  mem- 
ory. His  whole  life  appeared  so  listless,  so 
selfish,  so  taken  up  with  gratification  of 
self!  At  last  he  seemed  a  sinner.  How 
could  he  obtain  forgiveness? 

He  turned  over  in  agony,  and  the  little 
stone  tablet  fell  against  his  bosom.  With  dif- 
ficulty, on  account  of  the  manacles  on  his 
hands,  he  drew  it  forth  and  traced  the  words 
with  his  finger. 

"  For  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave 
his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  be- 
lieveth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life." 

As  when  a  black  cloud  passes  away  from 
tlie  moon  and  a  flood  of  brightness  fills  the 


i.Bn.i-.— ■araiia.Mflaji 


■ 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


59 


his 

"* 

oras 

—  ---' 

fave 

be-       : 
lave 

rom 

the 

whole  air  below,  so  the  light  burst  upon 
Amzl.  He  saw  It  all  now!.  His  talk  with 
Yusuf  on  the  love  of  God  came  back  to  him, 
and  he  shouted  aloud  with  joy: 

"  Praise  the  Lord,  he  hath  set  me  free!" 
.  "  Then  for  the  sake  of  mercy,  help  me  to 
get  out  of  this  too,"  said  a  voice  from  the 
other  side  of  the  partition.    It  was  Asm. 

"  Alas,  my  friend,"  returned  Amzl,  "chains 
are  still  on  my  body.  It  Is  my  soul  that 
soareth  upward  as  an  eagle." 

"  Wherefore?" 

Amzl  read  the  verse  of  Sci  Ipture  aloud. 

"I  have  heard  somewhat  of  that  before," 
said  Asru.    "  Read  It  again." 

Amzl  did  so,  and  explained  It  as  well  as  he 
could.  Asru  listened  eagerly.  This  new 
creed  Interested  him  by  Its  novelty,  espe- 
cially since  he  was  In  forced  inaction  and 
had  nothing  else  to  think  of.  But  it  also  ap- 
pealed to  a  heart  which  had  some  noble 
traits  among  many  evil  ones;  and  as  Amzl 
talked,  sorrow  for  his  sins  came  upon  him. 

"  But  the  promise  cannot  be  given  to  such 
as  I,"  he  said,  wistfully.  "A  long  life  of 
wickedness  surely  cannot  win  forgiveness." 

"  O  friend,"  returned  Amzi,  eagerly,  "  '  be- 
lieve on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 
Shalt  be  saved.'  IIow  often  did  they  tell  me 
those  words  and  I  would  not  believe,  could 
not  understand!" 

And  then  Amzi  told  the  story  of  the  thief 
on  the  cross,  as  he  had  read  it  and  talked  It 
over  with  Yuvsuf.  His  voice  thrilled  with 
eagerness,  and,  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
Asru  wept  tears  of  repentance.  To  him  too, 
the  door  was  opening,  and  a  great  longing 
for  the  love  of  Christ  and  for  a  better  life 
filled  his  bosom.  So  they  talked  until  the 
noise  of  the  awakening  Moslems  in  tlie  pas- 
sage without  rendered  it  Impossible  for  them 
to  hear  each  other.  But  joy  had  come  to 
tK)th  Amzl  and  A«ru  within  the  prison-walls. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  SCENE  IN  PALESTINE. 

**  T  bad  rather  choose  to  be  a  pilgrim  on  earth  with 
Thee  than  without  Thee  to  possess  heaven.    Where 


Thou  art,  there  is  heaven:  and  where  thou  art  not, 
there  is  death  and  hell."— 'J'homa»  d  Kempit. 

T  was  a  scene  perfect  in  its 
calm  beauty.  A  small,  low, 
white  house,  flat  -  roofed, 
and  dazzlingly  clean,  nes- 
tled at  tlie  foot  of  one  of 
the  fairest  liills  in  Pales- 
tine; and  before  the  door 
swept  the  river  Jordan, 
plashing  with  that  low,  soft 
ripple  which  is  music  every- 
where, but  nowhere  more  so  than  in  the 
hot  countries  of  the  East. 
A  grove  of  banana  and  orange-trees  shel- 
tered the  house,  and  the  delicate  fragrance 
of  the  ripening  fruit  mingled  with  tlie  per- 
fume of  late  roses.  On  the  greeu  !-'ls  near, 
sheep  rambled  at  will,  and  an  occasional  low 
bleat  arose  above  the  busy  hum  of  bees,  giv- 
ing an  air  of  life  to  the  quiet  scene. 

In  the  shade  of  the  trees  sat  Nathan,  his 
wife  and  Mary.  Tliey  had  been  talking  of 
Manasseh,— poor  Manasseh,  left  behind  in 
barren  Arabia!  Nathan  too  had  wantea  to 
stay  with  his  distressed  countrymen,  but 
failing  health  had  forced  him  to  seek  the 
more  genial  atmosphere  of  the  North;  and, 
after  a  long,  tedious  journey,  he  at  last 
found  himself  safe  once  more  in  his  beloved 
Palestine,  poor  in  worldly  goods,  yet  serene 
and  hopeful  as  ever.  ijfe  ■;.  .y  tf s^ : 

And  fortune  was  at  last  smiling  on  the 
Jewish  family.  Nathan's  health  had  come 
back  to  him  in  the  clearer,  more  bracing  air 
of  the  Nortliern  land,  his  flocks  were  increas- 
ing, and  the  only  gloom  upon  their  perfect 
happiness  was  the  absence  of  Manasseh, 
from  whom  they  were  not  likely  to  hear 
soon.  And  yet  they  gloried  In  knowing  that 
Manasseh  had  chosen  to  meet  tribulation  for 
the  sake  of  his  faith,  and  that,  wherever  he 
was,  he  was  helping  others  and  fighting  on 
the  side  of  right. 

"  Father,"  said  Mary,  "  how  grand  It  is  to 
be  able  to  do  something  great  and  noble  in 
the  cause!  Were  1  a  man.  I  would  go  with 
Manasseh  to  fight  for  the  Cross." 

Nathan  stroked  her  hair  softly.  "  The  life 
of  e-   "vone  who  is  consecrated  to  God  is 


mmmmmm 


60 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


directpd  by  hirn,"  he  aald.  "To  Marasseh  Is 
filven  tlie  privilege  of  defending  the  faith 
and  helping  the  weak  by  his  strong,  young 
arm;  to  Mary  Is  given  the  humble,  loving  life 
in  which  she  may  serve  God  just  as  truly 
and  do  Just  as  great  a  work  in  faithfully 
performing  her  own  little  part.  Think  you 
not  so,  mother?" 

"  Ah,  yes,"  returne<l  the  mother,  with  her 
gentle  smile.  "  Life  Is  like  the  cloth  woven 
little  by  little,  until  the  whole  pattern  shows 
In  the  finished  work;  and  it  matters  not 
whether  the  pattern  be  large  or  small.  So 
the  little  things  of  life,  done  well  for  Christ's 
sake,  will  at  last  make  a  noble  whole  of 
which  none  need  be  ashamed."  ;  i    - 

"  But  mother,  watching  the  sheep,  grinding 
the  meal,  washing  the  garments,  seem  such 
very  little  things." 

"  Yet  all  these  are  very  necessaiT  things," 
returned  the  mother  quietly,  "  and  if  done 
clieerfuUy  and  willingly,  call  for  an  unselfish 
heart.  A  gentle,  loving  life  lived  amid  little 
cures  and  trials  is  no  small  thing,  my  child." 

Mary  kissed  her  mother.  "  Mother,  you  al- 
ways say  what  comforts  one;  you  always 
n.ake  me  wish  to  live  more  patiently  and 
lovingly."      r^iji  ';..'    if-n..v,-'iulAi  ,. -,    -  ■^.  m..'-! 

"  And  yet,  Mary,"  said  her  father. 
"  mother's  life  has  been  one  round  of  small 
duties." 

Mary  sat  thinking  for  a  moment.  "  Yes, 
father,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  I  see  now 
tliat  mother's  life  has  been  the  very  best  ser- 
mon on  duty.  I  shall  try  to  be  patient  and 
happy  in  simply,  doing  well  whatever  my 
hands  find  to  do.  But  I  wish  Manasseh  were 
home;"  and  she  loolced  wistfully  to  the  west, 
where  bands  of  color  were  spreading  up  the 
sky,  saffron  at  the  horizon,  blending  into 
gold  and  tender  green  above,  while  all 
melted  into  a  sapphire  dome  streaked  and 
flecked  with  rosy  pink  rays  and  bars. 

"  How  he  would  enjoy  this  glorious  sun- 
set! Oh,  father,  how  dreadful  if  he  were  to 
be  killed!— if  he  were  nevermore  to  sit  with 
us  looking  at  the  sunsets!"  Her  voice  trem- 
bled a  little  as  she  spoke. 

"We  are  committing  him  to  the  care  of 
Almighty  God,"  returned  Nathan,  solemnly. 


"  Go<l  is  love,  and  whatever  he  does  will  be 
best." 

"  You  find  great  comfort,  father.  In  believ- 
ing that  *  all  things  work  together  for  good 
to  them  that  love  God.' "  said  Mary. 

"  For  the  children  of  God,  everything  that 
happens  must  be  best."  it;   lo  •        ' 

"Even  persecution  and  death?" 

"  ijJven  persecution  and  death.  If  God  so 
will." 

Mary  looked  at  his  placid  face  for  a  long 
time,  then  she  said:  "How  very  peaceful 
you  and  mother  are!" 

"  How  could  we  be  otherwise,"  the  father 
replied,  smiling,  '*  witli  Jesus  with  us  each 
hour,  each  moment?  And  we  know  that  he 
'  will  never  leave  nor  forsake  us.'  I  think, 
too,  that  he  is  very  close  to  my  daughter. 
Mary,  is  there  anything  in  this  world  that 
could  take  the  place  of  Jesus  to  you?  Would 
wealth  or  honor  or  any  earthly  joy  makp  you 
perfectly  happy  if  you  could  never  pray  to 
Jesus  more,  never  feel  him  near  you  as  an 
ever-present  Friend,  nevermore  have  the 
hope  of  seeing  his  face?" 

Mary  clasped  her  hands,  and  her  face 
glowed.  "  Never,  oh,  never!"  she  cried.  "  I 
would  rather  be  like  poor  blind  Bartimeus 
begging  by  t'  ?  wayside,  yet  able  to  call, 
'  Jesus,  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  me!' " 

The  sun  had  now  set,  and  the  sky  had 
faded  with  that  suddenness  common  in  East- 
ern lands.       .-  ■>,'      ;;  .'  >>,*««  ia|.;::."'»,«:.fii  i-  « 

Nathan  arose.  "  Let  us  now  oflPer  up 
prayer  for  the  safety  of  Manasseh,  and  for 
the  steadfastness  of  the  brethren;  for  we 
know  that  where  two  or  three  are  gathered 
together  in  Jesus'  name,  there  is  he  In  the 
midst  of  them.    liCt  us  pray!" 

The  three  knelt  in  the  dim  chamber,  with 
silence  about  and  the  evening  stars  above, 
and  prayed  for  the  lad  who,  amid  very  dif- 
ferent scenes,  was  in  the  heart  of  the  strange 
revolution.  And  then  they  sang  the  words 
of  that  sublime  psalm,  than  which  no 
grander  poem  was  ever  written:     - 

1  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from 
whence  cometh  my  help. 

My  help  cometh  from  the  Lord,  which  made 
heaven  and  earth. 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


61 


Ho  will  not  Buffor  thy  foot  to  ho  nioved;  he 
that  k<>oiK>th  thee  will  not  sliiinber. 

Behold,  he  that  keepeth  iMi'uel  Hhnll  neither 
slumber  nor  8leep. 

The  Lord  Ih  thy  keeper;  the  Lord  ia  thy  shiule 
upon  thy  ripht  hand. 

The  Kun  shall  not  smite  thee  by  day,  nor  the 
moon  by  nijfht. 

The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee  from  nil  evil; 
he  shall  preserve  thy  soul. 

The  Lord  shall  preserve  thy  jroiujf  out  and 
thy  ooniinK  in  from  this  time  forth,  and  even 
for  evermore. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  OHOD. 

"  Dost  tho  I  not  know  the  fate  of  soldiers? 
They're  but  Ambition's  tools,  to  out  a  way 
To  her  unlawful  ends."  —liouthern. 

'•■4 

HILE  these  events 
had  been  taking 
place  in  the 
North,  Ilenda  had 
given  Abu  Soflan 
little  peace,  urg- 
ing him  every  day 
to  pay  the  dues 
of  blood  -  revenge 
for  her  relatives, 
and  taunting  him 
with  cowardice  in  his  long  delay. 

At  length,  in  the  third  year  of  the  Hegira 
he  gathered  a  considerable  army,  and  with 
three  thousand  men  of  the  Koreish  tribe, 
among  whom  were  two  hundred  horsemen, 
left  Mecca,  accompanied  by  Henda  and  fif- 
teen of  the  matrons  of  Mecca  bearing  tim- 
brels and  slngii^  war-like  chants. 

The  whole  army  advanced  with  the  inten- 
tion of  besieging  Medina,  but  Mohammed's 
men  entreated  him  to  let  them  encounter 
Abu  Sofian  outside  of  the  city,  and  he 
yielded  to  their  entreaties.  With  only  one 
thousjind  men,*  fifty  of  whom  were  chosen 
archers,  the  prophet  took  up  his  stand  on  a 
declivity  of  Mount  Ohod,  al>out  six  miles 
north  of  the  city.  There,  on  its  black  and 
barren  slope,  he  divided  his  army  into  four 


♦  13urtoD  gives  seven  hundred. 


,*» .% 


parts,  three  of  which  bore  saored  banners, 
whi  .  the  grt'at  standard  was  placed  before 
IMohamnuMi  himself. 

In  order  to  imbue  his  men  with  courage, 
he  came  out  In  full  view  of  the  whole  array, 
and.  In  a  loud  voice  that  penetrated  even 
tlie  farthest  ranks,  gave  promise  of  victory. 
Tiien,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  should  be 
killed  In  battle,  he  expatiated  upon  the  de- 
lights of  that  Paradise  wliich  surely  awaited 
all  who  should  be  slain  In  the  cause,  repre- 
senting it  such  a  paradise  as  would  be  pe- 
culiarly adapted  to  the  tastes  and  stimulat- 
ing to  the  iniJiglnation  of  the  Arabs— a  race 
accustomed  to  arid  wastes,  burning  sands, 
and  glaring  skies;  a  paradise  of  green  fields 
and  flowery  gardens  coohnl  by  innumerable 
rivers  and  sparkling  fountains,  which  glit- 
tered from  between  shaded  bowers  Inter- 
woven with  perfumed  flowers.  He  gave 
them  promise  of  streams  literally  flowing 
with  milk  and  clearest  honey:  of  trees  bend- 
ing with  fruit  which  should  be  handed  down 
by  liouris  of  wondrous  beauty;  he  told  them 
of  treasures  of  gold,  silver,  and  Jewels. 
"  They  shall  dwell  in  gardens  of  delight,  re- 
posing on  couches  adorned  with  gold  and 
precious  stones.  .  .  Ui)on  them  shall  be  gar- 
ments of  fine  green  silk  and  brocades,  and 
they  shall  be  adorned  with  bracelets  of  sil- 
ver, and  they  shall  drink  of  a  most  pure 
liquor— a  cup  of  wine  mixed  with  the  water 
of  Zenjebil,  a  fountain  in  I'aradise  named 
Salsabil."       '  *?<•'■  ;  f*r..-u.^*^?n  i     •■-  ■ :  -'r'?. 

Such  was  the  sensual  character  of  the 
paradise  promised  to  his  i,.llowers  by  Mo- 
hammed. The  soldiers  were  listening  eagerly 
to  the  words  when  the  army  of  Abu  Soflan 
V  as  seen,  advancing  in  the  form  of  a  cres- 
cent, with  Abu  Soflan  and  his  idols  in  the 
center,  and  Henda  and  her  women  in  the 
rear,  sounding  their  timbrels,  and  singing 
loud  war-chants,     v-^^^?  vr*      '    I  ^'t'ov     •  . 

The  horsemen  of  the  left  wing  of  the 
Koreish  now  advanced  to  attack  the  Mos- 
lems in  the  flank,  but  the  archers  flred  upon 
them  from  the  top  of  some  steep  rocks,  and 
tliey  retired  in  confusion. 

Hamzji.  a  Moslem  leader,  then  shouted  the 
Moslem  cry,   "Death!    Death!"  and   rushed 


i*I^«p  -•  TC:-M^'."«gJM 


62 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


'■^W 


II  ' 


down  the  lilll  upon  the  center.  The  crn«h 
and  ronr  of  buttle  bo^nn.  lU^h  in  air 
Kleanied  8i)enr  and  luuce;  horHes  Hhrleketl 
and  reared,  and  tossed  their  louj?  uiuiich; 
dark,  contorted  vlKa^'es  and  shining  teeth 
Hhone  out  from  clouds  of  du«t;  s.isues  floated 
on  the  air,  an<l  snbrcs  flashed  lu  the  sunlight; 
all  was  mad  confusion. 

In  the  m(^\6e  two  jounjr  men  met  hand  to 
hand.  Both  were  tall  and  slight,  and  had 
dark,  waving  hah\  So  like  were  they  thot  a 
warrior  near  them  called  out,  "  Behold,  doth 
Manasseh  tiglit  with  Manasseh!"  But  the 
youths  heard  not,  recked  not.  Their  blows 
fell  thick  and  fust,  until  at  last  the  Moslem 
gave  way,  and  fell,  wounded  and  bleeding, 
In  the  dust  by  the  side  of  Hamza.  who  lay 
stiffening  In  death. 

Then  arose  the  shout,  "  The  swonl  of  God 
and  his  prophet!"  and  Abu  Dudjana,  ai'med 
with  the  prophet's  own  sword,  waved  It 
above  his  head  and  dashed  Into  the  thick  of 
the  battle. 

Mosaab,  the  standard-bearer,  followed 
close  and  planted  the  standard  at  the  top  of 
a  knoll.  An  an*ow  struck  him  In  the  eye. 
He  fell,  and  the  cry  arose  that  the  prophet 
himself  had  fallen.  All  seized  the  standard 
and  floated  It  aloft  on  the  air;  but  the  Mos- 
lems, seized  with  confusion,  would  not  rally, 
and  withdrew  to  the  hill-top. 

The  Koreish,  thinking  Mohammed  killed, 
forbore  to  follow  them,  and  began  the  re- 
volting work  of  plundering  the  dead.  Henda 
and  her  companions  savagely  assisted  in  the 
gruesome  task;  and.  coming  upon  Hamza, 
the  fierce  woman  mutilated  his  dead  body. 

By  him  she  found  the  handsome  youth, 
whom  she  believed  to  be  Manasseh,  so  torn 
and  covered  with  blood  as  to  conceal  his 
Moslem  adornments.  To  Manasseh  she  had 
taken  a  strange  fancy,  and  she  now  ordered 
the  youth  to  be  conveyed  in  safety  to  the 
camp,  with  the  army  which  was  forming  in 
line  of  march. 

The  band  of  Jews  who  had  come  with  the 
forces  of  Abu  Soflan,  mainly  for  the  purpose 
of  delivering  those  of  their  afflicted  brethren 
who  had  refused  to  join  Mohammed,  and  of 
whom   many   were  imprisoned  in   Medina, 


now  Joined  with  a  band  of  the  Koreish,  who 
desired  the  free<ioin  of  some  of  their  tribe, 
and,  while  the  excitement  of  battle  was  still 
fresh,  the  party  entered  the  city  by  stealth, 
then,  dashing  furiously  down  the  street  to 
the  guard-house,  overpowered  the  guards 
and  battered  open  the  doors,  setting  many  of 
the  prisoners  free.  Among  these  were  Amzl. 
Asru,  and  Yusuf. 

It  was  Manasseh  himself  who  broke  in  the 
door  of  the  apartment  in  which  Yusuf  was 
confined. 

An  exclamation  of  pleasure  burst  from 
him  on  recognizing  the  priest,  and  he  threw 
his  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Yusuf!    My  dear  Yusuf!"  he  cried. 

"  My  boy!"  exclaimed  tlie  priest,  in  aston- 
ishment.   "What  means  this?" 

"  It  means  that  you  are  free,"  said  the 
youth  as  he  knocked  off  the  chains.  "  Haste! 
We  must  on  to  the  camp  ere  the  Moslems  re- 
turn. Anything  more  than  this  I  will  tell 
you  on  the  way." 

Once  again  Yusuf  stepped  out  Into  the 
pure  air,  along  with  many  others  who  bore 
part  of  their  chains  in  the  broken  links  that 
still  clanked  upon  their  wrists  and  ankleo. 

In  passing  through  the  court-yard,  the 
priest  noticed  some  one  crouched  In  a  pit- 
iable he?')  In  a  corner  of  the  yard.  Manas- 
seh ha\-  d  him  out.  It  was  the  peddler, 
with  ashen  face  and  eyes  rolling  with  fear. 

"Come  along,  my  man!"  laughed  Manas- 
seh. "  Like  the  worm  in  a  pomegranate, 
you  are  apt  to  do  harm  if  left  to  yourself." 

Abraham  writ  lied  and  begged  for  mercy. 

"  Come  along!"  said  Manasseh,  impa- 
tiently. "  I  shall  not  hurt  you;  I  shall 
merely  look  after  you  for  awhile." 

Thus  consoled,  the  peddler  hopped  on 
with  alacrity.  A  hasty  mount  was  made 
and  the  party  set  out  for  the  camp  of  Abu 
Soflan. 

Yusuf  then  had  a  chance  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion burning  at  his  heart.  "  How  comes  it, 
Manasseh,  that  you  again  flght  against  the 
prophet?  When  last  I  saw  you,  you  wore 
the  green  of  the  Moslem." 

"  I!"  said  the  youth  In  astonishment.  "  You 
jest,  Yusuf!" 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


63 


"  It  wns  surely  you  who  mot  me  on  the 
fit  1(1  of  Hcdr." 

"  YuHuf,  are  you  mad?    It  wns  never  I." 

"Then  who  cnn  It  have  lM«en?  It  was 
your  very  face." 

"  For  once.  Yusuf,  your  eyes  have  played 
you  false.  How  could  you  have  believed 
such  a  thluK  of  Manasseh?" 

"  A  strange  resemblance!"  mused  Yusuf ; 
then—"  Whom  see  I  before  me  yonder?" 

"  Manasseh's  eyes  do  not  play  him  false, 
and  he  declares  It  to  be  Amzl."  said  the 
youth. 

They  hastened  up  the  narrow  street,  now 
crowded  with  soldiers,  prisoners,  camels, 
and  horses;  and.  escaping  the  missiles 
thrown  by  Infuriated  Moslem  women  from 
the  housetops,  soon  overtook  Amzl  and 
Asm.  All  proceeded  at  once  to  the  camp  of 
Abu  Soflan. 

Some  large  tents  were  set  apart  for  the 
wounded  Koretsh,  and  here  Yusuf  and  Amzl 
found  speedy  occupation  in  binding  wounds, 
and  giving  drinks  of  water  to  the  parched 
soldiers.    Manasseh  entered  with  them. 

"  What  means  this?"  cried  Henda.  "  Did 
I  not  have  you  conveyed,  soaked  with  blood, 
among  the  wounded  of  the  Koreish?" 

"  I  have  not  been  wounded  to-day."  re- 
turned Manasseh.  "  Read  me  this  riddle, 
Henda.    There  must  be  a  second  self—" 

"  Here,  Manasseh!"  Interupted  Yusuf  from 
one  side.  "  Had  you  a  twin  brother,  this 
must  be  he." 

Yusuf  was  bending  over  a  youth  whose 
dark  eyes  spoke  of  suffering,  and  who  lay 
listlessly  permitting  the  priest  to  bathe  his 
blood-covered  brow.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Manasseh,  who  was  quickly  coming  forward, 
and  those  near  wondered  at  the  striking  re- 
semblance, more  marked  than  is  often  found 
between  brothers. 

"Who  are  you,  friend?"  asked  Manasseh, 
curiously. 

"  Kedar  the  Bedouin!"  returned  the  youth, 
proudly.  "  Though  how  I  came  into  a  Kore- 
ish camp,  is  more  than  I  can  explain." 

"  For  that  you  may  thank  your  resem- 
blance to  me,"  laughed  Manasseh.  "  You 
are  weak,  Kedar,  my  proud  Bedouin,  and  we 


will  ask  you  to  talk  but  little;  yet,  I  pray 
you.  tell  me,  who  was  your  father?" 

"  Musn,  the  Bedouin  Shelkh."-haughtlly. 

"  And  your  mother  was  Lois,  daughter  of 
Eleazar?" 

"  Even  so."  returned  the  other,  wonder- 
Ingly. 

"  My  cousin!"  exclaimed  Manasseh.  de- 
lightedly seizing  his  haixl. 

"  And  son  of  my  Bedouin  friend,  Musa!" 
exclaimed  Yusuf. 

So  th<»  Bedouin  youth,  the  rasli.  hot-headed 
Moslem  recridt.  found  hhiiself  among  friends 
In  a  Koreisij  camp. 

Nigiit  had  now  fallen,  and  under  cover  of 
darkness.  Moluimmed's  army  silently  re- 
turned to  Medina. 

There  were  those  who  censured  the 
I)roi)het  for  ids  conduct  at  this  battle;  and 
some  even  dared  to  charge  him  with  decep- 
tion in  promising  them  victory.  But  Mo- 
hammed told  them  that  defeat  was  due  to 
their  sins:  "  Verily,  they  among  you  who 
turned  their  backs  on  the  day  whereon  the 
two  armies  met  at  Ohod.  Satan  caused  them 
to  slip  for  some  crime  which  they  had  com- 
mitted." 

To  quiet  those  who  lamented  for  their 
slain  friends,  he  brought  forth  the  doctrine 
that  the  time  of  every  man's  death  Is  fixed 
by  divine  decree,  and  that  he  must  meet  It 
at  that  time,  wherever  he  be. 

In  the  morning  the  majority  of  Abu  Sofl- 
an's  forces  set  out  for  Mecca.  Among  them 
were  Yusuf  and  Amzl,  also  Asm  the  captain; 
and  it  was  with  no  small  sense  of  comfort 
that  the  half-starved  prisoners  sat  again 
about  Arazi's  well-stocked  board. 

Manasseh  was  with  them.  Kedar,  scorn- 
ing to  desert  tlie  Moslem  army,  had  refused 
to  leave  Medina,  and,  by  the  earnest  inter- 
cession of  Yusuf  and  Amzl,  whose  word  was 
of  some  import  In  Meccan  ears,  he  had  been 
given  his  freedom. 

It  was  with  deep  relief  that  all  felt  the 
short  respite  from  the  blare  of  battle;  and, 
though  they  looked  forward  to  the  future 
with  anxious  forebodings,  and  though  their 
joy  was  clouded  by  tlie  death  of  Dumah,  they 
were  thankful   for  present  blessings.     Not 


■■iuliyri  JIIMm'J)UIW»M!N!.!M.»!i 


64 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


w 


alone  prayer,  but  praise,  was  an  essential 
part  of  their  religion,  and  tlieir  voices  as- 
cended in  song,— 

I  will  bless  the  Lord  at  all  times;  his  praise 
sliall  continually  be  in  thy  mouth. 

My  soul  shall  make  her  boast  in  the  Lord; 
tho  humble  shall  hear  thereof,  and  be  glad. 

0  magnify  the  Lord  with  me,  and  let  us  exalt 
his  name  together. 

1  sought  the  Lord,  and  he  heard  me,  and  de- 
livered me  from  all  my  fears. 

They  looked  unto  him,  and  were  lightened; 
and  their  faces  were  not  ashamed. 

This  poor  man  cried,  and  the  Lord  heard  him, 
and  saved  him  out  of  all  his  troubles. 

The  angel  of  tht-  Lord  encampeth  round 
about  them  that  fear  him,  and  delivereth  them. 

O  taste  and  see  that  the  Lord  is  good;  blessed 
is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  him. 

O  fear  the  Lord,  ye  his  saints;  for  there  is  no 
want  to  them  that  fear  him. 


CHi?^PTER  XX. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  DITCH. 

"Blood!  blood!    The  leaves  above  me  and  around  me 

Are  red  with  blood." 


^^^ 


N  the  year  which  fol- 
lowed, xMohamined's 
forces  were  more  than 
once  directed  against 
Syrian  caravans,  and 
the  plunder  divided 
among  the  Moslem 
troops  after  one-flfth 
had  been  appropriated 
by  the  ;orophet;  but  otherwise  the  truce  was 
unbroken,  until  at  the  end  of  the  yeai",  the 
Korelsh,  uniting  with  neighboring  tribes, 
many  of  whom  were  Jews,  formed  the  plan 
of  a  grand  attack  which  was  to  free  El  Hejaz 
forever  from  the  power  of  the  Islam  despot. 
From  the  Caaba  the  call  was  given  to  all 
who  could  be  appealed  to  through  religion, 
through  the  interests  of  commerce,  or 
tnrough  desire  for  blood-revenge  in  conse- 
quence of  the  battles  of  Bedr  and  Ohod.  To 
the  moi'e  earnest  Jews  the  undertaking  took 
the  form  of  a  vast  religious  war,  undertaken 
afiainst  the  hosts  of  Satan  for  the  deliver- 
ance of  a  land  in  bondage;  to  the  Meccan 


merchants  it  assumed  the  guise  of  a  com- 
mercial transaction  which  would  again  re- 
store the  trade  so  long  ruined  by  Moham- 
med's hostile  measures;  to  the  Korelsh  and 
the  desert  tribes  it  seemed  the  grand  oppor- 
tunity of  clearing  the  honor  stained  by  the 
unrevenged  death  of  their  friends. 

Accordingly  a  host  of  volunteers  to  the 
number  of  one  hundred  thousand  offered 
themselves,  and  the  vast  array  set  out. 
Among  the  volunteers  were  Yusuf,  Amzi. 
Asru,  and  the  valiant  Manasseh,  all  of  whom 
deemed  the  necessity  of  the  hour  a  sufficient 
reason  for  entering  upon  a  course  foreign  to 
the  laws  of  peace  which  they  would  fain 
have  seen  established.         ^    '^  '^' 

A  mighty  host  it  seemed  In  a  land  whose 
battles  had  chiefly  been  confined  to  skir- 
mishes between  different  tribes.  As  it 
wound  its  way  down  the  narrow  valley,  the 
women  of  Mecca  stood  upon  the  housetops 
listening  to  the  trampling,  and  beseeching 
their  household  gods  to  bless  the  enterprise. 

Long  ere  they  reached  Medina  the  prophet 
had  received  word  of  their  advance,  and  had 
had  a  ditch  or  entrenchment  dug  about  the 
city  as  a  sort  of  fortification. 

Abu  Sofian  ordered  his  tents  to  be  pitched 
below  on  the  plain,  and,  this  done,  he  at 
once  laid  siege  to  the  city. 

But  his  bad  generalship  ruined  the  under- 
taking. For  a  month  he  kept  his  men 
wholly  Inactive,  and  during  that  time  Mo- 
hammed busied  himself  in  sending  emis- 
saries in  the  midst  of  Abu  Soflan's  men  for 
the  purpose '  of  sowing  disaffection  among 
them;  and  so  completely  was  this  done  that 
the  besieging  force  became  hollow  and  rot- 
ten to  its  core.  Tribe  after  tribe  left.  The 
few  faithful  besought  their  leader  to  permit 
them  to  attack  the  city,  and  when  at  last  the 
order  was  given,  but  a  feeble  remnant  of 
the  original  host  remained.  Notwithstand- 
ing this,  the  command  "  Forward!"  was 
hailed  with  tumultuous  joy,  and  the  besieg- 
ers pressed  forward  in  irregular  yet  serried 
masses. 

Scarcely  had  the  attack  begun  when  a  ter- 
rific storm  arose.  It  was  in  the  winter  sea- 
son, and  a  sudden  hurricane  of  cold  winds 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


m 


on  me  shrieking  triroiiscti  the  gaps  of  the 
mountains  to  the  north. 

Amzi,  having,  as  an  influential  Mecean, 
been  appointed  to  the  command  of  a  dl.i- 
slon,  charged  bol<lly  forward  in  the  teeth  of 
the  tempest,  waving  his  sword  above  his 
head  and  cheering  his  men  on  with  liis  hoiu - 
ful  voice.  Yusuf,  Asru  and  Manasseh  pressed 
forward  close  behind  him.  A  cloud  of 
ari'ows  met  them,  yet  they  poured  Impetu- 
ously on.  And  now  the  banlv  was  climbed 
and  the  conflict  became  almost  hand-to- 
hand.  The  priest's  tall  form  rendered  him 
conspicuous  in  the  fray.  Some  one  came 
hacking  and  hewing  his  way  towards  him. 
It  was  the  agile  Uzza.  The  priest  was  beset 
on  all  sides  and  was  defending  himself 
against  fearful  odds,  when  tht  face  of  Uzza, 
fiend-like  in  its  hate,  burst  upon  him  as  a 
new  opponent.  He  raised  his  weapon  for  a 
blow,  but  the  vision  of  a  Guebre  altar  upon 
which  a  little,  bleeding  child  lay,  rose  before 
him,  and  his  arm  fell. 

Uzza  perceived  his  advantage.  With  a 
howl  of  triumph  he  cried,  "  False  priest,  you 
shall  not  escape  me  this  tlmel"  and  made  a 
fierce  stroke  with  his  sciiuitar.  But  the 
blow  was  parried. 

"  Simpleton!  Would  you  let  him  kill  you?" 
cried  a  harsh  voice  close  by  the  priest.  And 
the  next  moment  Uzza  fell  vvith  a  death- 
groan  at  the  feet  of  Asru. 

And  DOW  the  storm  struck  with  ful!  fury, 
howling  among  tlie  houses  of  Mecca,  whist- 
ling shrilly  on  the  upper  air,  and  bending 
the  palm  trees  low  along  its  furious  path. 
Thatches  wei<'  torn  from  the  roofs  and  car- 
ried whirling  through  the  air;  clouds  of  dust 
were  blown  high  along  the  streets,  and 
black,  ragged  clouds  scurried  across  the  sky 
as  if  uiged  on  by  demon-force.  Horses 
neighed  loudly.  Many  of  them  became  un- 
manageable, and  dashed,  with  terrified  eyes 
and  distended  nostrils,  through  tlie  midst  of 
the  flying  soldiery.  The  texua  of  Abu  Sofian 
were  torn  from  tlieir  pegs  and  hurled  away. 
Then  the  rain  descended  in  sheets,  or, 
whirled  round  by  the  wind,  swirled  along  in 
columns  with  almost  the  force  of  a  water- 
spout. 


Suddenly  a  cry  was  raised:  "It  la  Mo- 
hammed I  The  prophet  has  raised  the  storm 
by  enchautirent!" 

The  cry  echoed  from  mouth  to  mouth 
above  the  roar  of  the  tempest.  The  super- 
siitious  Arabs  were  seized  with  terror  ntjd 
fled  precipitately,  believing  themselves  sur- 
rounded by  legions  of  invisible  spirits, 
Amzi  and  his  little  band  stayed  until  tlie 
last;  then,  deserted  by  all  and  blinded  by  the 
descending  torrents,  tliey,  too,  were  oldiged 
to  withdraw,  and  nn^^^^her  victory,  that  of 
the  Battle  of  the  J,  bad  fallen  to  the 
pi'ophet. 

This  was  the  lasi  "\\^  dition  undei'taken 
by  the  Koreish  against  their  victorious 
enemy.  Moliammed.  of  course,  attributed 
hts  great  conqresi  t  divine  agency.  In  a 
passage  from  the  Koran  he  declared: 

"  O  true  believers,  remember  the  favor  of 
God  toward  you.  when  armies  of  infidels 
came  against  you.  and  we  sent  against  them 
a  wind  and  hosts  of  angels  which  ye  saw 
not." 

The  heart  sickens  in  following  further^ 
Mohsjmmed's  willful  career  of  blood.  Inuring 
the  following  five  years  he  is  said  to  have 
commanded  tv.'enty-seven  expeditions  and 
fought  nine  pitched  batUes.  Against  the 
Christian  Jews  in  particular  the  bitterest 
expressions  of  ids  hate  were  directed;  jjnd  to 
his  dying  day  this  incompreliensible  man, 
from  whose  lips  proceeded  words  of  mercy 
and  of  deadliest  rancor,  worda  of  love  and 
of  hate,  words  of  purity  and  of  gross  sens^u- 
ality— this  strange  man  persecuted  them  to 
the  last,  nor  over  ceased  to  direct  hi.s  arms 
against  all  v/ho  followed  tlint  gentle  .Jesus 
of  Nazareth  of  wliose  power  tliis  blood- 
marked,  self-proclaimed  prophet,  of  Ahah 
was  envious 

His  followers,  dazzled  by  t!ie  glare  of  his 
brilliant  victories  or  solicifous  for  self-pres- 
ervation, constantly  sv^-lled  sc  numbers,  but 
tliere  were  a  few  wiio.  like  Kedar,  bad 
heard  of  tlie  peacealdeness  of  the  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  who  began  to  sicken  of  the 
flow  of  blood  which  deli^ged  the  sands  of  El 
H(»jaz.  nud  ran  even  into  tlie  Nejd.  the  bor- 
ders of  Syria,  and  o*  Arabia-Felix. , 


Kmrvnrfimm  wnrmmmimmnmmmmmm»ixtwmf:*-fVmmwim\^slliA'WK' 


>«*(lj 


66 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


Kedar  often  longed  for  the  friendly  touch, 
the  hearty,  kindly  words,  of  the  friends 
whom  he  had  met  and  parted  from  as  in  a 
dream.  He  had  soon  refused  to  believe  iii 
Mohammed's  divine  appointment.  Even 
this  Bedouin  youth  had  enough  penetration 
to  see  that  religion  must  stand  upon  its 
results,  and  that  the  private  life  of  Moham- 
med would  not  stand  the  test  of  inspection. 
Fain  would  he  have  left  his  ranks  many  and 
many  a  time.  The  brand  of  coward  he 
knew  could  not  be  attached  to  him  for  leav- 
ing victorious  ranks  to  ally  himself  with  the 
few  and  feeble  Jews,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  idea  of  "  turning  his  coat " 
which  he  did  not  like.  He  imagined  In  a 
vague  way  that  such  a  proceeding  would 
compromise  his  principles  of  honor,  and  he 
had  not  reached  the  wisdom  of  that  great 
educator,  Comenius,  who,  not  long  ere  his 
death,  wrote  a  treatise  upon  "the  art  of 
wisely  withdrawing  one's  own  assertions." 
So  he  fought  doggedly  on,  until  circum- 
stances again  threw  him  into  the  bosom  of 
his  friends. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  FAMILY  OP  ASRU. 
"  God's  in  his  heaven,  all's  right  with  the  world." 

N  the  evening  upon 
which  the  Battle  of 
the  Ditch  was 
fought,  the  wife  of 
Asm,  and  his 
daughter,  Sherah, 
now  almost  grown 
to  womanhood, 
were  returning  from  per- 
forming Tiiwaf  at  the  tem- 
ple. They  had  prayed  for  the  success  of  the 
Koreish  expedition;  they  had  drank  of  the 
well  of  Ismael,  Zem-Zem.  and  had  poured  its 
water  on  their  heads.  Now  they  were  hasten- 
ing home  to  offer  prayers  to  their  household 
gods  in  the  same  cause,  for,  during  Asru's 
apostiisy  to  the  Moslem  ranks,  his  wife,  a 
woman  of  the  Koreish,  and  her  family  had 


never  swerved  from  their  hostility  to  Mo- 
hammed and  all  connected  with  him.  For 
their  obstinacy  in  this,  they  had  been  cruelly 
abused  by  Asm,  who,  with  the  superiority 
which  most  men  In  the  East,  assume  over 
women,  ruled  as  a  tyrant  in  his  house. 

It  was  with  unspeakable  satisfaction  that 
Sherah  and  her  mother  found  that  Asm  had 
at  last  broken  all  connection  with  the 
prophet,  but  a  change  had  come  into  his 
manner  which  was  to  theui  most  unaccount- 
able. Instead  of  cruelty  now  was  kindness; 
instead  of  stormy  petulance,  now  was  pa- 
tience; and  yet,  Asru  had  not  mentioned  the 
cause  of  his  new  life.  A  sort  of  backward- 
ness on  the  subject,  a  desire  to  know  more  of 
it  before  communicating  with  others,  strove 
with  him  against  the  dictates  of  his  con- 
science, and  he  had  as  yet  been  dumb.  He 
had  not  concealed  his  connection  with  the  lit- 
tle band  of  Jewish  Christians.  In  spite  of 
the  Jeers  of  his  friends  among  the  Koreish, 
he  had  attended  their  meetings  regularly. 
That  had  been  the  extent  of  his  active  Chris- 
tian work;  yet  his  life  had  been  preaching 
while  his  lips  were  still. 

Sherah  and  her  mother  talked  of  him  as 
they  walked. 

"  Mother,  however  it  be,  father  was  never 
kind  until  he  went  to  the  Jewish  meet- 
ings." 

"  Tme.  Yet  many  of  these  same  Jews  are 
wicked,  thieves,  low  robbers,  not  fit  for  such 
as  Asm  to  mingle  with,"  said  the  mother 
haughtily. 

"  Yet  not  the  Jews  who  attend  the  church," 
returned  the  girl,  quickly.  "  I  know  them. 
Most  of  them  are  poor,  but  not  thieves;  they 
seem  quiet,  industrious  people.  Then,  Amzi 
attends  there  now,  you  know,  and  Yusuf, 
who.  when  the  plague  was  raging,  spent 
weeks  In  attending  the  ,sick.  Did  he  not 
come  to  father  and  sit  with  him  night  after 
niglit,  when,  mother— I  shame  to  say  it— l)oth 
you  and  I  fled!" 

The  mother  walked  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  There  must  be  some  strange  power  that 
urges  a  man  to  do  such  acts,"  she  said, 
musingly.    "  It  would  be  easier  far  to  go  out 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


# 


to  battle,  urged  on  by  the  enthusiasm  of  con- 
quest, and  cheered  by  the  music  and  clash 
of  timb/els  to  deeds  of  bravery.  It  takes  a 
different  spirit  to  enter  the  houses  of  filthy 
disease,  to  court  death  in  reeking  lazar- 
houses,  to  sit  for  weeks  watching  hideous 
faces  and  listening  to  the  ravings  of  madmen 
through  the  long,  hot  nights  of  the  plague- 
season." 

"  Mother,  I  am  convinced  that  their  re- 
ligion prompts  them  to  do  it.  What  else  can 
it  be?" 

"What  is  their  religion?" 

"  I  know  not;  yet  we  may  know  for  the 
going,  perhaps.  See,  the  lights  gleam  in 
their  little  hall.  They  hold  meeting  to-night. 
Let  us  go." 

"What!  And  let  the  proud  tribe  of  the 
Korelsh,  the  guardians  of  the  Caaba,  see  a 
woman  of  the  Korelsh  enter  there?" 

"  We  can  go  in  long  cloaks,  mother,  and  it 
is  well-nigh  dark.    Come,  will  you  not?" 

The  pleadinr  voice  was  so  earnest  that  the 
mother  consented.  Yet,  that  the  influence  of 
the  god«  in  the  result  of  the  battle  might  not 
be  lost,  they  first  entered  their  own  house, 
prostrated  themselves  before  the  gods,  and 
besought  their  aid  in  the  Korelsh  cause. 
Then,  donning  long  outer  cloaks,  and  veiling 
their  faces  closely,  the  two  slipped  out  of  a 
back  way  and  stealthily  hastened  towards 
the  .1  ewish  church. 

It  was  late  'hen  they  aiTived.  Neither 
Yusuf  nor  Ani/i  was  present  to  raise  the 
hearts  of  their  hearers  with  words  of  simple 
an(  earnest  piety,  no  voice  of  Manasseh  was 
thei  to  lead  in  the  songs  of  praise,  but  an 
old  1  in  with  snoAvy  hair  and  a  saint-like 
face  was  standing  behind  a  table,  a  volume 
of  the  Scriptures  before  him,  and  the 
voices  of  the  congregation,  some  twenty  in 
number,  arose  in  the  old,  yet  ever  new 
words: 

"  The  Lora  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not 
want.  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green 
pastures;  he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still 
waters.  He  restoreth  my  soul:  he  leadeth 
me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for  his 
name's  sake.  Yea,  though  I  walk  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear 


no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me;  thy  rod  and 
thy  staff  they  comfort  me." 

The  Korelsh  woman  listened.  She  .?ould 
not  understand  all  this.  Yet  it  was  beautiful, 
— "  green  pastures."  "  still  waters."  Could 
it  be  that  these  people  knew  of  an  Ely  si  an 
spot,  unknown  to  Meccans  —  that  their  God 
led  them  to  such  favored  retreats?  She 
could  restrain  her  impatience  no  longer. 

''Where  are  the  green  pastures  and  still 
waters?"  she  cried,  impetuously,  "that  I  too 
may  go  to  them!" 

The  old  man  smiled  with  serene  kindness. 
"  Daughter,"  he  said,  "  the  green  pastures 
and  still  waters  are  the  pleasant  places  of 
the  soul.  Hast  thou  never  known  what  it 
was  to  have  doubts  and  fears,  restlessness 
and  dissatisfaction  In  the  present,  uncer- 
tainty for  tJie  future,  a  feeling  that  there  i« 
little  in  life,  and  a  great  gulf  in  death?" 

"  I  have  felt  so  almost  every  day,"  she  re- 
plied, passionately. 

"  Hast  thou  not  found  comfort  in  thy 
gods?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"  Alas,  I  fear  to  say  that  I  have  not!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  And  why  fearest  thou  thus?"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  knowest  thou  not  that  the  gods  are 
gods  of  vengeance?"  she  replied  In  an  awed 
whisper. 

"  I  know  naujjht  of  your  gods,"  he  re- 
turned. "  Our  God  is  a  God  of  love.  He 
gives  us  the  certainty  of  his  presence  ever 
with  us  in  this  life,  his  companionship  in 
death,  and  the  privilege  o(  looking  upon  his 
face  and  being  *  forever  with  the  Lord '  In 
the  world  to  come."       ''V         ; ;;;  ^    ; 

"  And  are  you  not  afraid  of  death?"  she 
asked.  "To  me  it  seems  a  dreadful  thing. 
It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  that  I  too 
must  one  day  suffer  the  struggle  for  breath, 
and  then  lie  still  an»l  cold." 

"To  those  who  love  the  Lord  'to  die  is 
gain.'  "  he  said.  "  Have  we  not  sung  *  Yea, 
though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for 
Thou  art  with  me '  ?  Surely  one  who  be- 
lieves that,  and  knows  that  he  is  going  to  be 
always  with  the  Lord,  always  able  to  look 
on  his  face,  need  not  fear  death." 


HMMMWH 


'  ■  I 


68 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


"  It  ifc,  a  beautiful  thought,"  the  woman 
said,  bowing  her  head  on  her  hands. 

"  Yet  not  more  beautiful  than  the  thought 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  ever  with  us;  that 
Jesus  himself  is  our  brother,  and  undor- 
stands  all  our  little  troubles;  that  ho  has 
promised  to  help  us  in  overcoming  all  evil. 
'  For  every  one  that  asketli  receiveth,  and  he 
that  seeketh  flndeth,  and  to  him  that  knock- 
eth  it  shall  be  opened.'  '  If  a  son  shall  ask 
bread  of  any  of  you  that  is  a  father,  will  he 
give  him  a  stone?  If  he  ask  a  fish,  will  he 
for  a  fish  give  him  a  serpent?  Or  if  he  shall 
ask  an  egg,  will  he  offer  him  a  scorpion?  If 
ye,  then,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good 
gifts  to  your  children,  how  much  more  shall 
your  heavenly  Father  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  him.'  Daughter,  these  are  the 
very  words  of  Jesus.  Do  they  not  show  you 
the  way  to  the  still  waters  and  green  pas- 
tures? Do  you  not  see  that  the  love  of  our 
God  acts  upon  the  heart  as  gentle  sh(»wers 
upon  the  barren  land,  causing  it  to  rejoice 
and  bring  forth  fruit  worthy  of  bein^  pre- 
sented to  our  Lord  and  Master?  *  He  hath 
loved  us  with  an  everlasting  love.'  He  loves 
us  ever,  therefore  in  our  returning  this  love 
to  him  doth  the  *  peace  of  God  that  passeth 
all  understanding'  lay  hold  upon  our 
hearts."  ,       i:  f 

"  But  ye  are  Jews!"  she  said.  "  Such 
promises  are  not  for  the  Koreisli." 

"  Such  promises  are  for  all,"  was  the  con- 
fident reply.  "  Jesus  said  wliosoever  believ- 
elh  in  him  should  not  peri%sh.  but  have  ever- 
lasting life.  None  so  sinful  that  Jesus  can- 
not wash  out  the  stain;  none  are  excbvled 
from  his  mercy.  Daughter,  believe,  receive. 
Let  the  love  of  God  enter  thine  heart, 
and  repent  best  by  doing  thine  evil  deeds  no 
more.  Only  come  to  Jesus  himself.  Only 
have  faith  in  him." 

The  Korelsh  w^oman  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  again,  and  answered  nothing.  The 
old  man  turned  to  the  Scriptures  and  read 
the  story  of  Jesus  and  the  woman  of 
Samaria,  raising  his  voice  in  triumphant  fer- 
vor as  he  reached  the  words:  "  ^Vhosoever 
drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give  hhn 
shall  never  thirst;  but  the  water  that  I  shall 


give  him  shall  be  in  him  a  well  of  water 
springing  up  into  everlasting  life." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  words  spoken  by 
Jesus  to  his  disciples  just  before  his  be- 
trayal, and  read:  "  Peace  I  leave  with  you; 
my  peace  I  give  unto  you.  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,"  and,  "  Abide  in  me,  and 
I  in  you.  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of 
itself  except  it  abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can 
ye  except  ye  abide  in  me.  I  am  the  vine, 
ye  are  the  branches;  he  that  abideth  in  me. 
and  I  In  him,  the  same  bringeth  forth  much 
fruit;  for  without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  " 

The  woman  listened.  With  the  quick  ap- 
preciation of  the  Arab  for  metaphor  and 
simile,  she  grasped  the  meaning  of  the 
words,  and  a  new,  wonderful  train  of 
thought  came  into  her  mind  as  she  sat  with 
bowed  head  while  simple,  pleading,  heart- 
offered  prayer  was  sent  up  to  the  Throne  of 
Grace,  and  the  parting  hymn  was  sung. 

Then  the  little  band  gathered  around  her, 
speaking  words  of  cheer,  and  the  aged  leader 
dismissed  her  with  a  gentle,  "  Come  again, 
daughter." 

As  Sherah  and  her  motlier  walked  home, 
the  last  remnant  of  the  fearful  storm  that 
had  visited  Medina  passed  over  Mecca.  They 
saw  the  ragged  clouds  borne  wildly  over 
the  northern  hills;  they  saw  the  stunted 
aloes  bending  low  beneath  the  sweep  of  the 
wind.  Yet  to  them  there  was  a  grandeur  in 
it,  for  there  was  still  upon  them  the  influence 
of  the  Divine  presence,  and  they  thought  of 
Him  who  "  walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind." 

And  as  they  went  on.  bowing  their  heads 
before  its  spent  fury.  Asm.  Amzi,  and  Yusuf. 
far  Xo  the  northward,  struggletl  on  with  the 
fugitive  army,  wondering  at  the  continued 
triumph  of  the  false  prophet,  yet  serene  in 
the  confidence  that  in  the  Divine  Hands  all 
was  well,  and  that  in  the  far-distant  end. 
however  blurred  to  human  vision,  all  must 
^\'ork  for  good  to  those  who  love  God,  even 
though  the  reason  of  his  working,  the  seem- 
ing mystery  of  the  fortunes  of  tlie  great  con- 
flict, might  not  be  unravelled  until  In  the 
briglit  hereafter,  when  all  things  will  at  last 
be  ma  je  plain. 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 
CIIAn^EH  XXII.    ;.i       . 
MANASSEH  AND  ASRU  AT  KHAIBAR. 


69 


"  Spirit  of  purity  and  grace, 
Our  weakness,  pitying,  see! 
O  make  our  hearts  thy  dwelling- 
place. 
And  worthier  Thee." 


HE  Koreish,  after  their 
disastrous  defeat  at  tlie 
Battle  of  the  Ditch,  re- 
turned in  bitter  disap- 
pointment to  Mecca. 
Many  even  of  the  bravest 
of  the  tribe  felt  that  it  was 
hopeless  to  strive  against 
the  propliet,  whose  phe- 
nomenal success  seemed 
;.»«»<'  to  render  his  troops  in- 
vincible. Many,  too,  with  the  superstition 
at  all  times  common  to  the  Arabs,  were  in 
deadly  dread  of  his  "enchantments,"  and 
were  only  too  ready  to  listen  to  his  bold 
assertions  that  the  momentous  storm  at  tlie 
siege  of  Medina  had  been  caused  in  his  favor 
by  heavenly  agency;  that  a  great  host  of 
angels  had  been  in  invisible  co-operation 
with  the  Moslems  and  had  drawn  their 
legions  about  the  ill-fated  company,  crying, 
"  God  is  great!"  and  strilcing  panic  to  the 
hearts  of  the  besiegers. 

Because  of  these  superstitions  the  hearts 
of  the  Arabs  failed  them,  and  they  day  after 
day  lessened  in'  their  hostility,  and  increased 
in  their  spirit  of  submission  to  the  now 
famous  prophet  of  El  Islam.  ''rt'*^  ;  ri  ;i:  ^ 
The  Jews,  however,  held  out  to  the  last, 
and  against  them  the  reeliing  blades  of  Mo- 
hammed's army  were  turned.  The  Jewish 
tribes  of  the  Koraidha,  Kainolia,  and  the 
Nadhirites.  in  the  vicinity  of  Medina,  were 
speedily  overthrown,  and  their  goods  talien 
possession  of  l)y  the  Moslems.  Then,  before 
the  blood  cooled  on  the  scimitars,  these  con- 
quests were  followed  by  the  dastardly  assas- 
sination of  the  few  Jews  who  were  still  in 
Medina,  and,  being  possessed  of  considerable 
property,  were  a  tempting  bait  to  the  ava- 
ricious prophet,  who  now.  making  religion  a 
cloak  to  cover  his  greed  and  ambition,  went 


to  the  wildest  excesses  in  i.ttainlug  his  ob- 
jects. i.vT'...  ,.  '..        .,    i,-     -.^f;,,,   ■,  r 

Many  of  the  Jews,  escaping  dearly  with 
tiieir  lives,  iled  to  the  city  of  Khaibar,  five 
days'  journey  to  the  northeast  of  Medina,  a 
city  inhabited  by  Jews,  who,  living  in  the 
midst  of  a  luxuriant  farming  district,  had 
grown  rich  in  the  peaceful  arts  of  agri- 
<'idture  and  commerce.  Others  hastened 
thither  in  tiie  hope  that  Khaibar  miglit  be- 
come the  nucleus  of  a  succt-ssful  resistance 
of  Mohammed's  power  in  the  near  future; 
and  among  the  latter  class  was  Manasseh. 

Late  one  afternoon  he  arrived  in  the  rich 
pasture-laids  surrounding  the  city.  The  air 
of  peace  and  prosperity,  the  lowing  of  herds 
and  bleating  of  f-heep,  delighted  him;  and. 
tliough  weary  from  his  journey,  it  was  with 
a  light  heart  that  he  urged  his  flagging  horse 
between  tlie  long  groves  of  palm-trees  until 
the  city  canie  in  sight. 

His  martial  si)irit  glowed  as  he  noted  the 
heavy  out-works,  and  the  strength  of  the 
citadel  Al  Kamus,  which,  built  on  a  high 
rock,  and  towering  rugged  and  black  against 
the  orange  sky  of  the  setting  sun,  seemed  to 
the  young  soldier  almost  impregnable. 

He  was  welcomed  at  the  gates  as  another 
recruit  to  the  gathering  forces,  and.  on  his 
request,  was  at  once  directed  to  the  house  of 
the  chief,  Kenana  Ibn  al  Rabi,  a  man  re- 
puted to  be  exceedingly  wealthy  Here  he 
was  courteously  received  l)y  Kenana  and  his 
wife  Saflya;  and,  In  a  long  conference, 
he  informed  the  chief  of  the  numbers 
and  zeal  of  Mohamme<i's  army,  urging  upon 
him  the  immediate  strengthening  of  the  city, 
as  it  was  highly  probable  that  the  prophet 
would  not  long  desist  from  making  an  at- 
tempt upon  a  tid-bit  so  tempting  as  that 
which  Khaibar  presented. 

That  evening  an  informal  council  of  war 
was  held  in  the  court-yard  of  the  chief's 
house.  Al  Haretli.  a  l>rother  of  Asru,  a  man 
who,  altliough  an  Arab,  had  been  api)ointed 
to  high  offlce,  and  had  proved  lilmself  one  f 
the  most  distinguished  commanders  of  the 
Jewish  colony,  was  present;  and,  among 
otliers,  Asru  himself  entered. 

"  Asru!"  exclaimed  Manasseh,  delightedly. 


70 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


■  ■      r  *  ' 


dun'ylnj?  him  aside  to  an  arbor,  "  you  here! 
I  thought  I  had  become  separated  from  you 
all  in  that  Ill-fated  storm.  Where  are  Amzi 
and  Yusuf,  know  you?" 

"  Gone  to  Mecca  with  Abu  Soflan's  rem- 
nant of  an  army— as  miserable  and  hang- 
head  lot  of  fugitives  as  ever  disgraced  field !" 
said  Asm  contemptuously.  "  By  my  faltli. 
It  shamed  me  to  see  our  brave  friends  in 
their  company,  even  for  the  journey!" 

"  Why  did  they  go  to  Mecca?" 

'•  Because  they  were  firmly  convinced  that 
Mecca  will  be  the  next  point  of  attack,"  said 
Asm,  "  but  methinks  they  shall  find  them- 
selves mistaken.  Mohammed  will  keep 
Mecca  as  a  sort  of  sacred  spot,  dedicated  to 
his  worship  — and  the  worship  of  Allah!" 
with  infinite  scorn.  "  But  Khaibar  is  a  pome- 
granate of  the  highest  branches,  too  mellow, 
too  luscious,  too  tempting,  to  elude  bis  grasp. 
Yes,  Manasseh,  Khaibar  will  be  his  next 
point  of  attack.  However,  I  am  truly  glad 
that  Yusuf  and  Amzi  have  gone  home.  The 
Jews  and  Christians  in  Mecca  will  be  safe 
enough  for  some  time  to  come,  and  our 
friends  are  getting  too  old  to  endure  much 
fatigue  of  battle." 

"  Aye,  Asm,  you  and  I  are  better  fitted  to 
face  the  brunt  of  the  charge  and  the  weari- 
ness of  the  march.  The  work  of  Yusuf  and 
Amzi  should  be  milder,  though  not  less 
glorious,  than  ours." 

"  You  say  well,"  returned  the  other,  with 
kindling  eye.  "  Asru,  for  one,  can  never  for- 
get what  they  have  done  for  him." 

"  Asru,  are  all  the  stories  of  the  wicked- 
ness of  your  past  life— your  cruelty,  your 
treachery,  your  blasphemy— true?" 

"  Manasseh,  let  my  past  life  go  into  the 
tomb  of  oblivion  if  you  will.  'Tis  a  sorry 
page  for  Asm  to  look  upon.  The  cruelty, 
the  blasphemy,— aye,  boy.  I  was  full  of  it; 
but  treacherous,  never!  Whatever  Asru  was, 
and  no  devil  was  blacker  than  he  in  many 
ways,  he  was  never  guilty  of  perfidy,  except 
you  call  the  trying  to  free  Amzi  and  poor 
Dumah  perfidy." 

"  I  am  glad,"  returned  Manasseh,  quietly; 
"  yet  it  would  not  matter  now,  since  our 
Asru  is  a  changed  man." 


Asru  looked  at  the  youth  earnestly. 
"  Manasseh,"  he  said,  "  does  the  old  nature 
never  come  back  upon  you?  Or  have  you 
never  known  what  It  was  to  feel  wrong  Im- 
pulses?" 

"Wrong  impulses!"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  Yes,  Asm,  many  and  many  a  time.  Yet, 
when  one  does  not  even  look  at  the  evil,  but 
keeps  his  face  turned  steadfastly  towards 
the  right,  the  old  self  seems  to  lose  its  hold. 
In  drawing  near  to  God  we  draw  away  from 
evil." 

"  Your  words,  I  know,  are  true,"  returned 
the  other;  "yet  the  keeping  from  doing 
wrong  seems  to  me  the  hardest  thing  in  liv- 
ing a  Christian  life." 

"But,  Asru,"  said  Manasseh,  "perhaps 
you  are  not  loving  enough.  The  more  you 
love  Jesus,  and  the  more  you  feel  him  in 
your  life,  the  easier  it  will  be  to  turn  fi'om 
temptation— to  hate  the  thing  that  inspires 
It.  If  you  really  love  him  you  simply  can- 
not do  what  will  pain  him." 

"  But  the  temptation  to  act  hastily,  to 
speak  unkindly,  comes  upon  me  so  often, 
INlanasseh,  that  I  grow  discouraged." 

"The  only  safety  is  in  always  looking 
Above  for  help.  Believe  me,  Asru,  I  speak 
from  experience.  Temptation  in  itself  is  not 
sin;  the  yielding  to  it  is.  Little  by  little  the 
temptations  bother  us  less,  and  we  grow  in 
grace.  You  know  this  Is  expected  of  us. 
Paul  speaks  of  'perfecting  holiness  in  the 
fear  of  the  Lord.'  He  says,  too,  'The 
weapons  of  our  warfare  are  not  carnal,  but 
mighty  through  God  to  the  pulling  down  of 
strongholds.'  He  said,  also,  to  the  Philip- 
plans,  '  It  is  God  that  worketh  in  you,  both 
to  will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure,'  and 
the  Lord  himself  has  said,  '  My  grace  is  suf- 
ficient for  you,  for  my  strength  is  made  per- 
fect In  weakness.'  So,  Asru,  ray  friend,  the 
whole  secret  is  in  accepting  that  gift,  in 
knowing  him,  and  in  keeping  the  soul  in  a 
constant  state  of  openness  for  the  working 
of  the  Holy  Spirit— a  '  pray-wltliout-ceasing  * 
attitude  in  which  one's  whole  life  is  resolved 
Into  the  prayer:  '  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be 
done,' " 

Asru  regarded  Manasseh  curiously. 


"1 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


71 


"How  Is  it,  young  as  yon  are,"  he  said. 
"  that  the«e  things  are  so  plain  to  you?" 

"  Ah,  you  forget,"  said  Manasseh,  "  what  a 
blessed  home  training  I  have  had,  and  that 
from  my  childliood  I  have  had  Yusuf  for  my 
counsellor.  For  these  Christian  friends  of 
my  childhood,  I  never  cease  to  be  thanlcful." 

Asru  turned  his  face  away.  "  And  I,  tot), 
have  children,  Manasseh,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  children  who,  with  their  mother,  are 
little  better  than  idolaters,  and  I  have  never 
told  them  differently." 

*'  But  you  will  teach  them?"  returned 
Manasseh. 

*'  Ah,  yes,  if  God  spares  me  through  this 
perilous  time  I  shall  teach  them." 

"  Have  you  lieard  or  seen  aught  of  Kedar, 
lately?"  aslced  Manasseh,  abruptly. 

"  In  the  Battle  of  the  Ditch  I  saw  him  for 
a  moment,  charging  furiously  against  one 
of  Abu  Soflan's  divisions.  He  was  in  ad- 
vance of  the  rest,  riding  with  his  head  bent 
in  the  teeth  of  the  tempest.  On  a  liuoll  above 
me,  I  saw  him  for  a  moment,  between  me 
and  the  sky,  his  hair  and  long  sash  stream- 
ing in  the  wind;  then  the  rain  came,  and  I 
saw  him  no  more.  Aye,  but  he  is  a  brave 
lad!" 

"  Poor  cousin!"  said  Manasseh.  "It  is  mis- 
placed bravery.    Would  he  were  one  of  us!" 

"He  is  not  a  Christian;  and,  unless  he 
were  so,  a  spirit  lilje  his  would  scorn  to  be 
one  of  such  a  craven,  contention-torn  mob  as 
that  which  Abu  Soflan  brought  to  the  field. 
Strange,  Is  it  not,  that  the  little  band  of 
Christians  find  themselves  allied  to  a  set  of 
idolaters,  against  one  who  would  cast  idols 
down?" 

"Aye,  but  Mohammed  would  trample 
Christians  and  idolaters  alike.  Think  you 
that  defeat  was  owing  wholly  to  cowardice 
of  the  soldiers?" 

"  Not  so  much,  perhaps,  as  to  bad  general- 
ship of  the  leader,"  returned  Asru.  "JNever- 
theless  the  superstition  of  the  heathen  Arabs, 
and  I  heir  fear  when  the  cry  of  Mohammed's 
enchantment  was  raised,  made  a  craven  of 
every  one  of  them.  Manasseh,  had  we  had 
ten  thousand  Christian  Jews,  there  might 
have  been  a  different  story." 


"  We  are  nearly  all  Jews,  here,"  said 
Manasseh,  proudly.  "  nave  you  happy  fore- 
bodings for  the  issue  of  the  next  combat?" 

Asru  shook  his  head,  gloomily.  "  There 
will  be  a  brave  resistance  on  the  part  of  our 
garrisons,"  he  said,  "although  many  of  the 
men  are  well-nigh  as  Ignorant  and  super- 
stitious as  the  heathen  Arabs;  but  Moham- 
med's forces  have  swelled  wondrously  since 
the  '  enchanted '  storm.  Well,  we  can  but 
do  our  best.  Now,  I  see  that  the  council  has 
assembled.    They  call  us.    Come." 

The  two  left  the  arbor  and  joined  the 
others  in  the  middle  of  the  garden.  And 
there,  while  the  stars  shone  peacefully  above 
In  the  evening  sky,  and  the  palm-trees 
waved,  and  a  little  l)ird  twittered  con- 
tentedly over  its  nest  in  an  olive  bush,  these 
men  talked  of  measures  of  fortification,  of 
tactics  of  war,  and  schemes  of  blood-shed; 
a  conversation  forced  upon  them,  not  as  a 
matter  of  choice  but  of  necessity— the  ne- 
cessity of  a  desperate  few,  earthed  by  a  re- 
lentless conqueror  and  a  ruthless  despot, 
whose  intolerance  to  all  who  denied  his 
claims  has  never  been  surpassed  in  earth's 
history. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MOHAMMED'S  PILGRIMAGE. 

•'  Five  great  enemies  to  peace  inhabit  with  us,  viz. : 

Avarice,  Ambition.  Envy, 
Anger,  and  Pride."  —  Pe- 
trarch. 

N  the  meantime  Yusuf 
and  Amzi  liad  taken 
up  the  old  routine  of 
life  in  Mecca  —  the 
faithful  doing  of  the 
daily  round,  the  little 
deeds  of  charity,  the 
duties  of  business,  the 
attendance  at  meet- 
ings in  the  little 
churelj.  Everything 
seemed  to  sink  back 
into  the  old  way,  yet  there  was  «ot  a  man  in 
the  city  but  held  himself  in  readiness  to  take 


It 


■((wi)  x!Kmmmmmfmm9^^f^f^0»!mtmm 


72 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


up  arms  were  an  attack  made  upon  them  to 
wrest  from  them  their  freedom. 

And  word  came  that  Mohammed  was  com- 
ing,—coming,  not  in  war,  but  in  peace,  on  his 
first  pilgrimage  to  the  Caaba.  Mecca  wa.s 
instantly  thrown  into  the  wildest  confusion. 
Some  deemed  the  prophet's  message  honor- 
able, but  the  majority  were  dubious,  and 
thought  that  if  Mohammed  once  gained  an 
entrance,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  sacred  month  Doul  Kauda,  his  com- 
ing would  be  but  to  deluge  the  streets  with 
blood. 

A  hasty  consultation  was  held,  and  a  troop 
of  horse  under  one  Khaled  Ibn  Waied,  was 
sent  out  to  check  the  prophet's  advance. 
Mohammed,  however,  by  means  of  his  spies, 
early  got  word  of  this  sally,  and,  turning 
asl  3e  from  the  way,  he  proceeded  by  ravines 
and  by-paths  through  the  mountains;  and, 
ere  the  Meccans  were  aware  of  his  prox- 
imity, his  whole  force  was  encamped  near 
the  city. 

A  deputation  came  from  Ids  army  to  the 
dignitaries  of  Mecca  bearing  messages  of 
peace;  but  their  reception  was  haughty. 

"  Go  to  him  who  sent  you,"  was  the  reply 
to  their  overtures,  "  and  say  that  Meccan 
doors  are  shut  to  one  against  whom  every 
family  In  Mecca  owes  the  revenge  of  blood." 

For  days  the  deputation  was  sent,  with  the 
same  rosult,  until  at  last  ambassadors  of 
the  prophet  entered  with  the  offer  of  a  truce 
for  ten  years. 

The  promise  of  a  long  respite  from  blood, 
and  the  hope  of  securing  time  to  recuperate 
their  forces,  caught  the  ear  of  the  Meccans. 
A  deputation  was  appointed  to  treat  with  the 
prophet,  and  Amzl,  though  a  Christian,  by 
reason  of  his  wisdom  and  learning  was 
chosen  as  one  of  the  representatives. 

Yusuf  accompanied  him  to  an  eminence 
above  the  defile  in  which  the  Moslem  tents 
were  pitched.  A  strange  sight  It  was.  Far 
as  eye  could  reach,  tents,  white  and  black, 
dotted  the  narrow  valley,  horses  were 
picketed,  and  camels  browsed;  and  In  the 
foreground  one  thousand  four  hundred  men 
were  grouped,  waiting  to  hear  the  issue  of 
the  conference,— one  thousand  four  hundred 


men,  bare-footed,  and  with  shaven  heade, 
and  each  wearing  the  white  skirt  and  white 
scarf  over  the  shoulder,  assumed  by  pil- 
grims. Strangely  different  were  they  from 
the  ordinary  troops  of  the  prophet,  strangely 
unrecognizable  in  their  garb  of  humility  and 
peace;  yet  a  second  glance  revealed  the  fact 
that  each  carried  a  sheathed  sword. 

Yusuf  remained  above,  but  Amzl  de- 
scended with  the  embassy  sent  with  the  mes- 
sage that  the  treaty,  if  suitable,  would  be  at 
once  ratified.  Mohammed,  who,  in  place  of 
his  green  garb,  now  with  obsequious  hu- 
mility wore  the  pilgrims'  costume,  expressed 
his  pleasure  at  the  amicable  attitude  of  the 
Meccans.  He  was  seated  upon  a  white  camel 
named  El  Kaswa  in  honor  of  the  faithful 
beast  which  had  borne  him  in  the  earlier 
vicissitudes  of  his  fortunes.  Beside  him,  at 
a  table  placed  on  the  sand,  sat  his  vizier  and 
son-in-law.  All,  to  whom  was  given  the  task 
of  writing  the  treaty  as  dictated  oy  Moham- 
med. 

"  Begin,  O  Ali,"  said  the  prophet,  "  *  In  the 
name  of  the  most  merciful  God'—"  -  ; 

Sohall,  the  spokesman  of  the  Meccan  depu- 
tation, immediately  objected,  "  It  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  Meccans  to  begin,  '  In  Thy  name, 

O    God."'        -.       ..;.-■,:•*'    .    =.-::    •  '/.^.-..V-fA./-   •• 

"  So  be  it,"  assented  the  prophet;  then,  con- 
tinuing, he  dictated  the  opening  of  the  body 
of  the  treaty—"  '  These  are  the  conditions  on 
which  Mohammed,  the  apostle  of  God,  has 
made  peace  with  those  of  Mecca."     n  );  ji 

A  deep  murmur  of  disapproval  arose 
throughout  the  Meccan  embassy. 

"Not  so,  O  Mohammed!"  cried  Sohall 
again.  "  Had  we  indeed  acknowledged  you 
as  the  proi)het  of  God.  think  you  we  would 
have  sent  Khaled  Ibn  Waled  with  armed 
men  against  you?  Think  you  we  would  have 
closed  the  streets  of  Mecca  against  one 
w)iom  we  recognized  as  an  ambassador  of 
the  Most  High?  No,  Mohammed,  son  of  Ab- 
dallah,  it  must  not  be  *  apostle  of  God.'  " 

Mohammed  again  bowed  in  token  of  sub- 
mission. "  Write  thus,  then.  O  Ali,"  he  said. 
"  *  These  are  the  conditions  on  which  Mo- 
hammed, son  of  Abdallah,  has  made  peace 
with  those  of  Mecca.'  " 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


73 


He  thpn  prorooflod  to  the  terms  of  the 
treaty,  Htli>ulntlnp;  that  the  prophet  nnd  his 
followers  shoulfl  have  aooesss  to  the  elty  at 
any  season  dnrlng  the  period  of  truce,  pro- 
vided they  came  unarmed,  habited  as  pil- 
grims, and  did  not  remain  over  three  days  at 
a  time. 

This  biislnesB  concluded,  the  embassy  from 
Mecca  retraced  Its  way:  and  Mohammed, 
changing  his  mind  about  entering  the  city  at 
that  time,  ordered  that  prayers  should  be 
offered  up  on  the  spot,  that  seventy  camels 
should  there  be  sacrificed,  and  that  the  pil- 
grims saould  then  return  home. 

This  was  accordingly  done,  and  the  people 
went  back  in  somq  disappointment  to 
Medina,  where  the  prophet  announced  the 
success  of  his  mission  in  a  new  passage  from 
the  Koran: 

"  Now  hath  God  verified  unto  his  apostle 
the  vision  wherein  he  said.  Ye  shall  surely 
enter  the  holy  temple  of  Mecca,  if  God 
please,  in  full  security." 


CHAPTER  XXIV.      '*    ' 

THE  SIEGE  OF  KHAIBAR.— KEDAR. 

*'  The  drying  up  a  single  tear  has  more  of  honest 
fame  than  sheuding  seas  of  gore." 

N  the  same  year,  the  sev- 
enth year  of  the  Hejira, 
Mohammed  made  the  ex- 
pected attaclc  on  Khai- 
bar.  The  chief,  Kenana. 
got  word  of  his  approach, 
and  ordered  that  the 
country  for  miles  around 
f  the  capital  should  l>e  laid 
For  days  the  long  roads  leading  into 
the  city  from  every  direction,  swarmed  with 
a  moving  line  of  anxious-faced  people,  driv- 
ing their  camels  and  sheep  ahead  of  them, 
and  leading  mules  laden  with  liousehold 
property.  liow  wagons  creaked  beneath  the 
weight  of  fodder  for  the  animals,  and  com 
and  dates  for  the  people;  and  the  loud 
"Yftkh!  Yflkh!"  of  the  camel-drivers 
mingled  with  the  thud  of  the  camel-sticks 


waste. 


falling  upon  the  thick  hides  of  the  lazy  ani- 
mals.  "'''*■    ''-'•     '■■  ":'■     •'    ■■■'■'•■■ 

Asru  was  given  charge  of  the  expedition 
for  laying  waste  the  country;  and  never  was 
a  more  considerate  destroyer. 

"Here,  here!"  he  would  cry  to  an  aged 
man,  "  let  me  load  that  animal  for  you!"  and 
he  would  lift  the  heavy  burden  to  the  back 
of  the  pack-mule,  while  the  old  man  would 
say.  "  You  are  surely  a  kind  soldier  after 
all."  " 

"  I  will  carry  this  sick  girl."  he  would  say, 
to  another,  and  would  lift  her  as  gently  as 
a  mother  and  place  her  in  the  shugduf  In 
which  she  was  to  be  conveyed  to  the  city. 

His  spirit  of  gentleness  spread  among  his 
men. 

"  Let  us  be  kind  to  our  friends,  men,"  he 
would  urge  upon  them.  "  The  day  is  fast 
coming  when  we  can  scarcely  be  kind  to  our 
enemies,  be  we  never  so  ^\illlng." 

So  the  people,  though  sad  as  they  looked 
back  upon  their  smouldering  homes  and 
blazing  palm  trees,  were  filled  with  love  for 
the  gentle  soldiers,  and  went  up  with  a  new 
motive  in  striking  for  their  liberty,  for  vhere 
is  nauglit  tliat  will  bring  forth  the  strongest 
powers  of  action  like  the  impulse  of  love. 

Ah,  the  blight  and  misery  of  war!  Man- 
asseh  looked  out  from  the  citadel  upon  the 
scene  which  he  had  deemed  so  fair- -the 
waving  corn-fields,  the  groves  of  palms  and 
olives  and  aloes,  the  nestling  houses,  the 
pastures  covered  with  flocks— now  but  a 
blackened  and  smoking  waste,  with  here 
and  there  the  skeleton  of  a  palm  tree  point- 
ing upward  like  a  bony  finger;  and  here  and 
there  a  reeking  column  of  black  smoke,  or 
the  dull  glare  of  a  burning  homestead. 

The  people  murmured  not.  "  Better  let  It 
lie  in  ashes  than  permit  it  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  impostor!"  they  cried,  and  they 
muttered  curses  upon  the  head  of  the  de- 
stroyer of  their  happiness  and  prosperity. 

All  were  at  last  in  and  tlie  anxious  waiting 
began.  Keen  eyes  peered  from  the  citadel 
night  and  day.  Watchmp  i  were  posted  at 
every  point  of  the  out-works  and  spies  were 
sent  broadcast  through  the  country. 

Then  the  fateful  word  came.    Breathless 


iW-iJiffW^iWW 


74 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


8C0UtB  told  of  an  army  fast  apprcaclilii};. 
twelve  hundit'd  inea  and  two  Imndn'd 
horHO,  eommandt'd  by  the  prophet  )lm8elf, 
his  vizier  All,  and  his  friend  Aim  Bexer. 

Al  Kanina,  the  citadel,  was  immediately 
crowded  with  men,  and  soldiers  were  i)OHted 
alon^  the  walls,  neither  strong  In  numbers 
nor  in  arms,  for  many  were  armed  but  with 
staves  and  stones.  I)esi)eratlon  was  in  tlu>lr 
hearts,  and  calm,  resolute  faces  looked  t'ortii 
for  the  advancing  host. 

Just  as  the  morning  sun  Hashed  deflanMy 
from  the  towers  of  Al  Knmus,  the  Moslem 
army  came  In  sight.  At  first  it  seemed  like 
a  moving,  shapeless  mass  over  the  blackened 
fields,— and  as  the  rising  sun  fell  upon  it. 
the  moving  mass  became  dotted  with  glints 
and  lines  of  sliver,  like  the  ripple  of  waves 
on  a  sunlit  sea;  but  the  watchers  recognized 
the  deadly  Import  of  those  bright  gleams,  and 
by  the  flash  of  sclmitnrs  and  lances  were 
able  to  compute  in  a  vague  way  the  strength 
of  their  opponents. 

On  they  came  until  the  stony  place  called 
Mansela  was  reached,  and  there,  beneath  a 
great  rock,  the  host  halted.  The  anxious 
watchers  from  the  city  could  not  discern  the 
exact  meaning  of  this,  but  more  than  one 
guessed  that  the  halt  was  mad<'  for  the 
offering  of  ostentatious  i)rayer  by  the 
prophet. 

This  Indeed  was  the  case.  As  Mohammed 
came  in  full  view  of  the  citadel  he  ci'ied  out: 
"  There.  O  believers,  is  the  eyrie  to  which 
ye  must  climb.  But  victory  has  been  prom- 
ised us.  Angels  shall  again  lend  us  their  In- 
visible aid.  Therefore  have  courage,  O 
believers!  Remember  t  lat  for  each  of  those 
vile  Infidels  slain,  a  double  joy  awaits  you 
in  paradise.  Know  ye  that  every  drop  of  an 
unbelieving  Jew  shod  is  as  the  crystal  drops 
of  nectar  of  paradise  to  the  happy  follower 
of  Mohammed,  the  prophet  oi'  God.  And 
fear  not  that  ye  be  slain  in  this  combat,  O 
faithful!  Ye  will  not  be  slain  except  your 
appointed  time  has  come,  when  ye  must  In 
any  case  die.  Remember  that  to  be  slain  In 
battle  for  the  cause  of  Islam  is  to  reap  a 
glorious  reward!" 

Then,  mounting  the  great  rock,  he  called 


with  a  loud  voice:  "La  lllaha  11  Allah! 
Mohammed  Resoul  Allah!"  (There  Is  no  God 
but  God!  Mohammed  la  the  prophet  of 
God!) 

And  while  the  fanatics  below  prostrated 
themselves  he  prayed  long  and  loudly. 

Then  the  tents  were  pitched  and  the  siege 
began.  For  many  days  it  lasted.  So  abun- 
dant had  been  the  supplies  of  food,  and  so 
numerous  the  droves  of  animals  brought 
into  the  city,  that  those  within  the 
walls  had  no  fear  of  famine.  But  so  com- 
plete was  tlie  devastation  of  the  country 
that  the  prophet's  troo[)S  began  to  sutl'er 
for  want  of  food.  Yet  they  waited,  as  a 
suitable  time  of  attack  had  not  arrived.  In 
the  meantime  tliey  were  engaged  In  digging 
trenches  as  a  protection  to  the  troops. 

Manasseh  and  Asru  were  much  togetlier. 
They  had  become  like  brotliers,  and  night 
after  night  they  met  on  the  citadel  and 
looked  out  '  <^r  the  strange  scene  that  was 
presented  the    inhabitants    of    Khaib.ir 

every  evening  during  the  siege.  For,  daily, 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  the  whole  Mos- 
lem army,  with  the  prophet  praying  loudly 
at  its  head,  set  out  In  solemn  proccHslon. 
then  proceeded  round  and  round  the  city 
until  seven  circuits  were  completed,  as  In 
Tawaf  at  the  Caaba. 

Many  among  the  more  superstitious  Jews 
of  KhaVbar  and  their  few  Koreish  adher- 
ents felt  a  thrill  of  awe  ns  they  looked  upon 
this  ceremony,  fearing  tliat  the  prophet  Avas 
again  practicing  his  arts  of  enchantment 
ujmn  them;  but  the  performance  never  failed 
to  bring  the  smile  of  scorn  to  Asru's  lli)s. 

"Blind  fanatics!"  he  exclaimed  one  even- 
ing.   "  A  precious  set  of  idiots!" 

But  Manasseh  looked  serious.  "Asru,"  he 
said,  "of  course,  I  do  not  believe  In  all 
this;  yet  there  Is  a  somethinf;:  solemn  in  it 
to  me.  It  makes  me  think  of  the  seven  cir- 
cuits made  about  Jericho,  when  tlie  priests 
blew  upon  the  trumpets  and  the  walls  fell." 

"  Ah,  but  the  voice  of  Jehovah  gave  the 
order  then;  now,"— and  he  smiled  contempt- 
uously—" the  commanding  voice  is  that  of 
Mohammed,  the  peaceful  Meccan  trader, 
anon  the  gentle  prophet  of  Allah,  anon  the 


TUB  DAYS  or  MOHAMMED. 


blood-thirsty  vulture  nnd  ctit-tbroat  robber, 
destroyer  of  life  and  llbcuy." 

"  Verily,  Asru  the  Moslem  soldier  ban  com- 
pletely thanked."  returned  MauaHHeb,  Hmll- 
Ing. 

"  Aye,  ManHHHPh,  thankH  to  the  peaceful 
(iospel  of  .lesuH.  Asru  the  Mosleui.  the  lover 
of  war,  would  now  fjiln  see  ihls  fnir  land 
sndlln)?  with  happy  homes  .ind  pe.iceful 
tillers  of  tlu-  soli.  Whnt  Is  that  about  the 
child  and  the  cockatrice?" 

"'And  the  Hucklnj?  child  shall  play  on  the 
hole  of  the  asp.  and  the  weaned  child  shall 
lay  Its  hand  on  the  cockatrice'  den.  They 
shall  not  hurt  nor  destroy  in  all  my  holy 
mountain;  for  the  earth  shall  be  frll  of  the 
knowledge  of  the  Lord,  as  the  waters  cover 
the  sea,'  "  quoted  Manasseh  solemnlv. 

Asru  looked  thoughtfully  out  towards  the 
distant  hills,  but  he  did  not  see  them.  He 
saw  a  quiet  home  In  Mecca,  where  a  pale- 
faced  wife,  a  beautiful  daughter,  and  two 
bright-eyed  boys,  sat. 

"  Manasseh,"  he  said  at  length.  "  it  may 
be  that  I  shall  be  killed  in  this  batrh-.  If  I 
am  and  you  are  spared,  go  lu  my  wile  and 
children.  Tell  them  the  Gospel  for  me.  My 
great  regret  Is  that  I  myself  put  It  olT  until 
too  late.    Win  you,  Manasseh?" 

Manasseh  pressed  his  friend's  hand 
warmly.  "  You  may  trust  me,  if  I  live."  he 
said  simply.    And  the  soldier  was  satisHed. 

*•  Manasseh.  I  am  rich,"  he  continued. 
"  See  that  my  wealth  is  used  for  the  best." 

Manasseh  pressed  his  hand  again,  and  the 
tall  soldier  left  him,  feeling  that,  whatever 
happened,  this  young  man's  fidelity  and  In- 
tegrity could  be  depended  upon. 

And  now  the  Moslem  army  began  to  weary 
of  inaction.  Several  desultory  attacks  were 
made  by  them,  and  battering-rams  were  set 
In  play  against  the  walls,  but  with  no  efl'ct, 
until  a  grand  attempt  was  decided  upon. 
Night  had  scarcely  faded  into  morning,  and 
the  rock  of  Mansela  still  stood  black  and 
shapeless  against  a  gray  sky.  when  a  com- 
motion was  seen  in  the  Moslem  camp.  Mo- 
hammed's troops  no  longer  made  the  wild 
onslaught  of  untrained  Bedouin  hordes.  The 
experience   of   scores   of  engagements   had 


(aught  their  leadc  the  necessity  of  system; 
and  now  the  host  Itegan  to  move  in  regular 
order  in  three  main  divlsiouN.  Above  the 
center  one  floated  the  sacred  flag  of  the 
prophet:  to  the  right  waved  All's  standanl. 
a  design  of  the  sun;  and  to  the  left  fluttered 
the  Black  Kagle  of  Abu  Beker's  division. 

The  battle  began  by  an  ssault  led  by  Abu 
Keker.  Scaling-ladders  were  placeil.  and 
tlie  Moslems  swarmed  up  the  wails,  but  a 
desperate  band  led  by  Al  Hareth  met  them, 
and  the  Ix'sieging  party,  after  a  sharp  tlglit. 
was  compelled  to  withdn  w.  Shouts  of  tri- 
umph and  jeers  of  derision  arose  from  the 
city  walls.  The  Moslems  were  frantic,  (^ries 
of  vengeance  were  heard  fronj  tlielr  raidis. 

Then  All.  shouting,  '  For  (Jod  and  the 
prophet!"  dashed  forward.  He  was  dressed 
In  scarlet,  and  wore  a  cuirass  of  steel.  Over 
his  head  he  waved  the  prophet's  sword,  autl 
at  the  head  of  his  division  floated  a  sacred 
banner.  Straight  on  he  dashed  towards  a 
breach  In  the  wall,  and  there,  on  a  pile  of 
loose  stones,  he  fixed  the  standard. 

Al  Hareth  rushed  to  the  fore,  and  a  des- 
perate, single-handed  combat  ensueil.  The 
Moslem  army  and  the  garrison  of  the  city 
alike  held  their  breath.  The  ct)nte8t  was  un- 
equal. In  a  moment  Al  Hareth  had  fallen, 
and  a  mighty  cheer  burst  from  the  prophet's 
men. 

Manasseh  was  stationed  at  tlie  head  of  a 
band  of  horsemen,  whom  he  was  now  with 
dittlcnlty  l<eeping  in  check.  Yet  for  a  mo- 
ment he  forgot  all  in  watching  a  figure  that 
was  ascending  the  breach. 

Whose  but  Asru's  that  gigantic  form? 
Whose  but  Asru's  that  floating  turban  of 
white— that  helmet  In  which  flashed  a  dia- 
mond placed  there  by  Kenana's  own  hand? 
Whose  but  Asru's  that  clanking  sword  and 
that  three-pronged  speai  which  none  but  he 
could  wield? 

"  Surely  now  the  Moslem  will  waver!" 
thought  the  youth;  and  with  bated  breath 
he  watched  this  second  combat,  waged  be- 
side the  bleeding  form  of  Asru's  dead 
brother. 

With  dauntless  air  the  Moslem  awaited 
the  coming  of  Asru.    They  closed  upon  each 


76 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


other.  Tho  armies  looked  on.  motionless, 
breathless,  tlie  combatants  stnijrjfied,  a 
wrlthinf?  mass,  broken  only  by  the  tliish  of 
the  spejir  and  glitter  of  the  laiuM'.  uh  dea«lly 
blows  were  dealt  or  parried  — and  the  sun- 
shine rained  from  almve.  The  very  air 
seemed  to  stand  still  In  watehliiK..  and  the 
clash  of  every  stroke  was  borne,  with  pain- 
ful distinctness,  to  the  ears  of  Akiu's  friend. 

The  combat  was  an  equal  one.  All's  auillty 
MUitching  well  the  superior  strenjrfh  of  his 
nntajjonlst,  and  It  was  not  soon  over.  At 
last  the  Moslem  seemed  to  sta^ijer. 

There,  there.  Asm.  strike!  He  falls,  he 
falls  I  There  Is  your  advantage  I  Strike  I 
•Toy,  Joy  I  victory  Is  ours! 

But  no!  Ye  gods,  what  is  wrong!  Why 
stands  Asru  there,  helpless?  Why  does  he 
not  act?  By  Allah,  he  loses  tin.e!  Ha!  his 
turban  end  has  become  twisted  over  his  eyes 
beneath  his  helmet!  Help!  Help!  Ye  gods! 
Ha!  All  rises  with  a  sharp  recoil!  He 
strikes!    Woe!    Woe!    Asru  Is  down! 

A  shout  breaks  afresh  from  the  Moslem 
army  as  the  brave  Asru's  body  Is  dragged 
to  one  side  of  the  breach.  And  now  the 
Moslems  dash  forward  like  an  avalanclie. 
Th<'  breach  widens:  the  green  and  yellow 
turl»!iiis  swarm  within  the  walls.  Matias- 
seh's  horse  dash  forward.  Over  the  open 
square  a  detachment  of  Moslem  horse  Is 
spurring,  the  horsemen  bending  low  as  they 
ride,  thefr  maddened  animals,  gorgeous  in 
trappings  of  scarlet,  yellow  and  blue,  with 
tails  knotted  at  the  ends.  "  like  unto  the 
heads  of  son)ents."  With  regular  sway  the 
long  spears  swing  wltli  tl»e  motion  of  the 
horses. 

Clash!  Tlie  opposing  forces  meet.  Men 
fall.  Horses  roll  over  In  the  dust.  Back! 
Back!  The  Moslems  are  in  headlong  tllglit! 
Yet  one  youth  tights  on.  Straight  for  tlie 
young  Jewish  leader  he  dashes.  Blows  rain 
on  each  side.  Some  of  the  Jewish  horse 
close  round. 

"  Keep  off,  men!"  shouts  Manasseh. 
"  Would  ye  attack  a  man  tlfty  to  one?" 

Blows  fall  faster  and  breath  comes  in 
short  gasps. 

The     Moslem's     horse     gives     way     be- 


neath him.  and  falls  with  a  shriek  back- 
wanls.  The  gallant  youtli  springs  to  his 
feet,  then  throws  uj)  his  arms  and  falls.  His 
turban  drops  off  from  his  brow,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  Manasseii  recognizes  Kedar. 

He  turns  sick.  Is  the  Moslem  dead?  No. 
his  heart  still  beats.  *•  Here.  men.  take  him 
into  that  house.    I  will  s(  "k  hlra  later." 

On  goes  the  y<»\mg  leader  to  a  fresh  sct'iie 
of  battle.  Alas!  In  tiie  meantime  the  poorly- 
nnned  Jews  have  been  every wliere  driven 
back.  The  Moslems  have  entered  the  cita- 
del; the  Jews  give  way  before  them  every- 
where. lOven  his  own  hopeful  spirit  <'annot 
revive  them.  Tliey  are  seized  witli  a  panic 
and  n.v.  leaving  the  l)rave  youth  almost 
ah)M<>. 

Manasseh  was  soon  overpowered,  bound, 
and  tlirown  into  the  corner  of  a  great  hall  of 
the  citadel,  when*  lie  lay  apparently  forgot- 
ten, listening,  witli  lieavy  heart,  to  the 
shrieks  and  cries  of  his  countrymen  with- 
out, and  to  the  hum  of  war,  gradiially  grow- 
ing fainter,  until  it  ceased,  and  he  knew  that 
the  conflict  was  over.  Tl'.e  Moslems  began 
to  enter  tlie  hall,  among  tliem  Mohammed. 

The  prophet  took  his  seat  at  the  end  of  the 
apartment,  and  presently  several  of  tlie 
chief  citizens  were  brouglit  In  with  hands 
bound.  Manasseh  perceived  that  a  trlbuu.-.i 
was  being  held,  and,  from  his  corner,  list- 
ened eagerly  to  the  sentence  passed  upon 
each. 

It  soon  appeared  that  treasure  was  the 
prophet's  aim.  Exorbitant  demands  were 
made  upon  the  rich  merchants,  who,  pale 
and  trembling,  otfered  their  all  in  exchange 
for  their  lives.  Among  the  rest.  Kennna, 
with  his  handsome  wife,  was  brought  In. 

"They  tell  me,  Kenana."  said  the  prophet. 
"  that  you  have  Immense  wealth  stored  up 
In  this  citadel.  If  you  desire  your  life,  in- 
form me  where  this  treasure  is." 

*'  I  have  no  treasure  in  the  citadel,"  said 
Kenana.  proudly:  "and  if  T  had,  the  apostle 
of  Azazll  should  not  know  of  it." 

The  prophet's  face  colored  with  passion. 
"Apostle  of  Azazll!  O  blasphemer!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Do  you  then  thus  defy  the  only, 
the  true  prophet  of  Allah?" 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


77 


"I  do." 
"  Tlifii 


wt>  shall  see  what  can  bv  doue 
with  a  Htubborii  Inll.lel  spirit  I"  roturnt'd 
Mohatuined.    "  Hither!    Apply   tho  torture!" 

A  machine  of 
tlcndJMh  invention  was 
apI)Ued  to  flie  chief's 
luindH.  His  tlufftTH 
were  squeezed  until 
tlie  hones  crai  ked;  his 
veins  swelled  in 
aj^'ony;  yet  no  soinul 
escaped  ids  lips.  He 
could  not,  or  would 
not,  tell  where  the 
t  r  e  a  s  u  r  e  was  con- 
cealed, and  he  was 
handed  over  to  a 
Moslem  whose 
brother  Kenana  liad 
slain.  Manasseh 
closed  his  eyes  in 
horror,  for  he  linew 
that  Kenana's  fate 
was  sealed. 

Kenana's  wife,  Sa- 
flya,  was  taken  by 
Mohaninied.  and  on 
tiie  homeward  march 
she  became  the  wife 
of  the  prophet. 

Manasseh  lay  there 
In  great  depression  of 
spirit.  He  was  weary 
in  mind  and  cramped 
in  body,  and  it  almost 
seemed  as  though  he 
were  completely  for- 
saken. Yet  Ins  ever- 
present  source  of  com- 
fort returned  to  him, 
and  like  a  sweet  re- 
frain came  the  words 
into  his  mind:  "Thou 

hast  been  a  strength  to  the  poor,  a  strength 
to  the  needy  in  his  distress,  a  refuge  from 
the  storm,  a  shadow  from  the  heat,  when  the 
blast  of  the  terrible  ones  is  as  a  storm 
against  the  wall " 

The  half-starved  Moslem  troops  now  began 


to  clamor  for  fofxi,  and  the  defenceless  .Jew- 
ish wonu'U  were  forced  to  prepare  victuals 
and  to  serve  tiieir  conquerors.  Among  these 
wonu'ii  entered  Zaynali,  tlie  niece  of  Asru. 


The  Moslem's  liorse  gjves  way  beneath  him!— See  page  76. 


She  placed  a  shoulder  of  mutton  before  the 
prophet,  then  went  towards  the  door.  Per- 
ceiving Manasseh  in  the  corner,  she  severed 
bis  bonds  with  a  quick  stroke  of  a  small  dag- 
ger, then,  shielding  him  as  best  she  might, 
she  bade  him  begone.  -**  ;;ii. 


78 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


,1 


"  Have  hope!"  she  whispered  In  his  ear. 
"  I  have  poisoned  the  prophet." 

Slanasseh  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
hon  or. 

"Why  not?"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Manasseh  fights  with  a  lance,  Zaynab  with 
poison.    Now,  fly,  ere  they  see  you!" 

Manasseh  hastened  down  the  daric  streets 
to  the  house  In  which  Kedar  had  been 
placed.  He  found  the  youth  moaning  feebly. 
Hurrying  out,  he  caught  a  couple  of  stray 
camels,  and  fastened  a  shugduf  in  its  place. 
Then,  raising  the  youth  in  his  strong  arms, 
he  laid  him  in  the  shugduf,  and  set  off  in  the 
darkness. 

To  Mecca  he  must  go.  It  was  a  long,  weary 
way.  He  ha<l  little  money,  and  the  few  pro- 
visions which  a  Jewish  woman  in  the  house 
gave  him  would  not  last  long;  yet  he  trusted 
to  Providence,  and  remembered  with  satis- 
faction that  the  dates  were  now  at  their 
ripest.  He  wou'd  nurse  Kedar  tenderly;  they 
would  journey  in  the  cool  shades  of  night 
when  there  was  less  danger  of  being  stopped 
on  the  way.  Planning  thus,  he  proceeded,  as 
noiselessly  as  possible,  with  his  precious  bur- 
den, through  a  gap  In  the  wall,  and  urged 
his  faithful  beasts  on  in  the  cool  night 
breezes  over  the  blackened  plain. 

Then  he  thought  of  Asm.  Asm  mu^tt  not 
be  left  to  be  rudely  thrown  into  a  grave  by 
infidel  liands.  There  was  danger  in  It,  bxit 
he  must  go  back.  Kedar  was  sleeping.  He 
fixed  the  camels  by  a  charred  palm  grove, 
and  went  bacli.  with  flying  feet,  through  tae 
gloom.  The  towers  of  Al  Kamus  rose  ab've 
him,  with  lights  twinkling  on  the  battle- 
ments. He  wondered  if  the  prophet  wore 
yet  alive  and  what  would  be  the  result  to 
Arabia  if  he  were  dead.  On.  on,  through  the 
darkness,  until  the  fatal  l)reach  was  readied. 
It  was  quite  deserted,  peopled  only  by  a 
hoap  of  dead  bodies,  from  which,  in  the  nighv 
time,  the  superstitious  Arabs  shrank  in 
liorror.  Groping  among  them,  he  soon  came 
upon  Asni's  huge  form,  which  he  readily 
recognized  by  its  armor.  He  dragged  the 
precious  day  of  his  friend  from  tfte  mass  of 
dead  and  brought  it,  with  ditflculty,  outside 
of  the  wall;  and  there  beneath  a  palm  tree, 


he  hollowed  out  a  lonely  grave,  loosening  the 
clay  with  a  battle-axe  taken  from  a  dead 
Arab,  and  throwing  the  clods  out  with  his 
shield.  He  then  cut  a  wisp  of  hair  from  the 
dead  soldier's  long  locks,  placed  it  in  his 
bosom,  kissed  the  cold  brow,  and  utter  d  a 
short  prayer  over  the  lifeless  form.  Tenderly 
he  placed  the  body  in  the  shallow  grave,  and 
covered  It  with  the  clay,  then,  breathing  a 
last  farewell,  left  Asm  forever  in  this  life. 

In  the  meantime  Mohammed  and  one  of 
his  followers  had  begun  to  eat  of  the 
poisoned  mutton.  The  soldier  was  ravenous 
with  hunger,  and  set  upon  the  tempting 
roast  with  eager  relish.  Mohammed  partook 
of  it  more  Slowly. 

Suddenly  the  soldier  threw  up  his  arms, 
and  fell  back  in  a  convulsion.  Mohammed 
started  back  in  consternation.  He,  too,  felt 
pain,  and  raised  the  cry  of  "Poison!"  The 
Moslems  came  rushing  in  in  great  aJarm. 
Antidotes  wee  given  him,  and  he  shortly  re- 
covered, with  but  a  slight  sensation  of  burn- 
ing in  his  head.  The  poor  soldier  was  soon 
stiff  in  death. 

Mohammed  sent  for  the  woman  who  had 
brought  him  the  mutton.    She  came  at  once. 

"  Know  you  who  put  the  poison  in  this 
meat?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  I,"  she  confessed,  boldly. 

*'  And  how  dared  you  perpetrate  so  wicked 
a  scheme?" 

"  If  you  were  a  true  prophet."  she  replied, 
"  you  would  have  known  that  the  meat  was 
poisoned;  if  not,  it  were  a  favor  to  Arabia  to 
rid  it  of  such  a  despot." 

"  See  then,"  exclaimed  the  prophet,  "  how 
Allah  hath  preserved  the  life  of  his  apostle! 
Behold,  I  forgive  you.  Return  to  your  ribe, 
and  sin  not  in  Ulie  manner  again." 

Sf*  saying,  with  one  of  his  strange  freaks 
of  magnanimity,  he  waved  her  off,  and  soon 
afterward  went  to  rest. 


1^ 


1 1 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


79 


a 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MANASSEH  AND  KEDAR  AT  MECCA. 

Home,  sweet  home." 

TIE  flame  of  a  smoky 
oil-dip  dimly  lighted 
a  spacious  room  in  the 
house  of  Amzi.  At  the 
low  table  sat  Yusuf  and 
his  friend  with  a  chart 
before  them,  anxiously 
following,  with  eye  and 
finger,  the  course  of  Mo- 
hair! med's  northern  ex- 
ploits. 
The  thouglits  of  both 
were  with  Manasseh.  A  knock  sounded  at 
the  bolted  door.  Yusuf  opened  it,  and  there, 
like  a  cameo  in  the  setting  of  darkness,  was 
the  youth  himself. 

"  Manasseh,  my  son!"  cried  both  in  aston- 
ishment. 

He  stepped  in,  now  laughing,  now  brush- 
ing tears  from  his  eyes.  "  There!"  he  said, 
freeing  himself  from  their  embraces,  "I  have 
one  more  surprise.  I  come  l!ke  a  grandee, 
bearing  my  company  in  a  litter.  Help  me 
bring  him  in." 

They  stepped  out,  and  Manasseh's  second 
face,  that  of  Kedar,  peered  from  the  curtains 
of  the  shugduf.  None  the  less  warm  was 
the  greeting  extended  to  the  Moslem,  whose 
weak  and  trembling  frame  was  an  instant 
call  upon  their  sympathy. 

'•  Now,"  said  Manasseh.  piling  up  a  heap  of 
cushions,  in  his  impetuous  way,  '*  get  us 
some  supper,  will  you  not?  I  can  eat  my 
own  share,  and  half  of  Kedar's.  Like  the 
birds,  he  takes  but  a  peck  at  a  time." 

Supper  was  ordered,  and  soon  attendants 
entered  bearing  .ilatters.  until  the  copper 
table  was  burdened  with  the  most  tempting 
dishes  of  Mecca— roast  of  spiced  lamb,  slices 
of  juicy  melon  and  cucumber,  pyi'amids  of 
rice,  pomegranates,  grapes  of  Tayf,  sweet- 
meats, fragrant  draughts  of  coffee. 

Kedar  watched  witli  a  languid  smile.  The 
peace  of  this,  quiet  home  life  affected  him 


almost  to  tears.  Strange  had  been  his  emo- 
tions when  he  a  wo  Ice  to  consciousness  in  the 
shugduf,  alone  with  Manasseh,  in  the  wilder- 
ness—feelings first  of  indignation,  then  of 
gratitude,  then  of  admiration  for  Manasseh, 
in  whom  he  now  disc(A'ered  the  leader  of  the 
Jewish  horse.  And  on  the  way  this  ad- 
miration had  ripened  into  love  for  the  un- 
selfish Jewish  youth. 

The  weariness  of  the  long  journey  began 
to  tell  upon  him  now,  and  he  was  glad  that 
he  was  among  friends.  He  could  eat  but  lit- 
tle, and  was  content  to  listen  to  Manasseh's 
bright  talk,  and  to  watch  him  as,  with  flash- 
ing eye  and  eloquent  gesture,  he  fought  over 
again  the  Battle  of  Khaibar,  or  when,  with 
hushed  lone  and  tearful  eye,  he  told  of  the 
death  of  Asm,  and  hi.s  lonely  burial. 

"  I  must  seek  his  widow  and  his  children," 
said  he.  "This  is  ^11  I  have  brought  them;" 
and  he  dr^v  the  tangled,  blood-stained  lock 
of  hair  from  his  bosom. 

Silence  fell  on  the  little  group  as  they 
looked  upon  it.  then  Yusuf's  tones,  falling 
like  the  low,  deep  cadence  of  a  chant,  re- 
peated the  words: 

"  And  there  shall  be  no  more  curse,  but  the 
throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb  vshnll  be  in 
i.;  and  his  servants  shall  serve  him.  And 
they  sliall  see  his  face:  and  his  name  shall  be 
in  their  foreheads.  And  tliere  shall  be  no 
night  there;  and  they  need  no  candle,  neither 
light  of  the  sun;  for  the  liOrd  God  giveth 
tiiem  light;  and  they  shall  reign  forever  and 
forever." 

"Amen!"  responded  Amzi,  fervently.  And 
Manasseh  looked  out  of  the  window  towards 
the  bright  heavens  above  Abu  Kubays, 
imagining  that  he  could  see  Asm,  clad  in 
shining  apparel,  with  a  happy  smile  on  his 
lips,  and  the  courageous  eyes  of  old  looking 
forth  with  a  new  love-light  from  his  radiant 
countenance. 

"  Do  you  know  his  family?"  he  asked. 

*'  Ah,  yes;  they  are  now  regular  attendants 
at  the  Christian  church.  Tiiey  have  de- 
stroyed all  their  househ  )ld  gods." 

"Wlitit!"  exclaimed  Manasseh.  "is  this 
true!  How  I  wish  Asm  had  known  it!  What 
joy  It  would  have  given  hi  ml" 


80 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


Amzi  smiled.  "  Dare  you  think.  Manasseh, 
that  lie  does  not  liuow  it  longc  ere  tliis,— that 
he  did  not  know  it  even  at  the  breach  of 
Khaibar/  I  like  to  think  that  our  Asru  now 
has  a  spiritual  Iwdy  wholly  independent  of 
\\\i\e  or  space,  capable  of  ti unsporting  itself 
whenever  and  wherever  the  mind  dictates." 

"  We  cannot  know  tliese  things  as  they 
are,  in  this  time."  remarked  Yusuf.  "  But 
the  day  is  not  very  far  distant  now,  Amzi, 
when  you  and  I  shall  explore  those  mys- 
teries for  ourselves." 

So  the  talk  went  on.  Kedar  listened  with 
interest.  He  thought  it  a  curious  couersa- 
tion,  and  felt  so  strangely  out  of  place  that 
it  seemed  as  tliough  he  were  dreaming,  and 
listening  to  the  talk  of  genii. 

Next  morning  he  was  in  a  decided  fever. 
Then  came  long  days  of  pain  and  nights  of 
delirium,  in  which  Manasseh  and  his  two 
friends  hovered  like  mini'stering  spirits  about 
the  youth,  whose  wounds  had  healed  only  to 
give  place  to  disease  far  more  deadly.  In 
those  terrible  nights  of  burning  heat  his 
parched  tongue  swelled  so  thai  he  could 
scarcely  swallow;  he  tossed  in  agony,  now 
fancying  himself  chained  to  a  rock  unable  to 
move,  while  the  prophet  urged  him  on  to  the 
heights  above  where  the  battle  was  raging; 
now  imagining  himself  fastened  near  a  burn 
Ing  furnace  whose  flames  weva  fed  by  tii' 
bodies  of  tiiose  Avhom  he  had  slain.  He 
v«'ould  cry  out  in  terror,  and  beads  of  per- 
spiration would  start  upon  his  forehead.  He 
lived  the  whole  war  over  again,  and  his  only 
rest  was  at  times  when,  partially  conscious. 
he  felt  kindly  liands  placing  cool  bandages 
on  his  burning  head,  or  gently  fanning  hi.«i 
face. 

The  time  at  last  came  when  he  sank  into  a 
heavy  sleep,  and  awoke  calling  "  Mother." 

Jt  was  Manasseh  who  came,  almost 
startled  by  (he  naturalness  of  tlie  tone. 

"  I  have  been  very  ill,  Manasseh?" 

"  Very." 

"Long?"  :   ;      T;r    ;     ,. 

"  For  weeks.  But  you  must  not  talk.  You 
will  soon  be  well  now." 

'J  he  invalid  closed  his  eyes,  not  to  sleep, 
but  to  think.    Presently  he  opened  them. 


"  Manasseh,  if  I  had  died,  would  I  have 
seen  Asru?" 

Manasseh  was  embarrassed.  "  I— I  cannot 
say,"  he  stammered.  "  I  do  not  know  you 
well  enough  to  be  sure." 

"  You  do  not  think  I  should.  I  do  not  think 
so  either,"  he  returned  decidedly,  and  closed 
his  eyes  again. 

In  a  few  days  he  v/as  able  to  talk. 

"  Manasseh,  did  I  hear  Yusuf  praying  for 
me  once  when  I  was  ill?" 

"  He  prayed  for  you  every  day,— not  only 
that  you  might  be  spared  to  us,  but  that  you 
might  come  to  know  Jesus,  and  to  reject  Mo- 
hammed." 

"  I  do  not  tliink  that  I  ever  accepted  him— 
tliat  is,  in  a  religious  sense,"  he  returned. 

Manasseh's  eyes  opened  wide  in  astonish- 
ment. "Then  why  did  you  follow  him?"  he 
asked. 

''■  Because,  I  suppose,  his  successes  dazzled 
me.  It  seemed  a  grand  thing  to  be  a  hero  in 
the  war— to  ride,  and  charge,  and  drive  all 
before  me.  Aye,  Manasseh,  it  is  after  the 
war  that  the  scales  fall  from  one's  eyes." 

"  How  could  you,  then,  follow  one  whom 
you  did  not  accept,  and  must,  therefore,  have 
deeuM'd  an  impostor?" 

"  1  tell  you,  Manasseh,  I  gave  little  heed 
to  matters  of  religion.  For  the  first  time, 
during  the  last  few  days,  I  have  thought  of 
a  religious  life,  or  of  a  hereafter,  as  I  lay 
h<?re  feeling  that  but  for  you  and  your 
friends.  I  should  even  now  be  in  the  un- 
known land  beyond  the  grave." 

Manasseh  talked  long  and  earnestly  to  the 
now  convalescent  youth.  Yusuf  and  Amzi 
too  talked  gently  to  him  when  he  seemed  in- 
clined to  lipar,  I)ut.  in  liis  present  weak  state, 
they  deemed  that  the  consciousness  of  living 
in  a  godly  house  would  appeal  more  strongly 
than  words  of  theirs.  The  weeks  passed  on, 
yet  he  gave  no  indication  that  their  hopes 
were  being  realized.    Once  indeed  he  said: 

"  Manasseh,  would  that  I  had  had  a  godly 
training  such  as  yours!"  -— -^-r  -— 

"  pid  your  mother  not  tell  you  of  these 
things?" 

Kedar  shook  his  head.  "  My  poor  mother 
drifted  away  from  her  early  training  In  our 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


8] 


half-heathen  Bedouin  atmosphere."  he  said. 
"  The  Bedouins  Itnow  little  of  Christ.  They 
have  traditions  of  the  creation,  of  the 
deluge,  and  such  old-time  storic-s;  in  all  else 
they  are  almost  heathen.  When  I  am  well. 
Manasseh,  we  will  go  to  them— to  my  father 
—and  you  will  tell  them,  Manasseh?" 

Manasseh  nodded  a  smiling  assent. 

It  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that  Yusuf 
and  Amzi  watched  for  some  sign  of  spiritual 
growth  in  the  young  Bedouin.  As  the  days 
wore  on,  and  he  was  able  to  get  about, 
though  still  weak,  he  was  willing  to  atten<l 
the  Christian  meetings;  but  he  sat  in  silence, 
and  persisted  in  wearing  the  garb  of  a  Mos- 
lem. The  friends  did  not  understand  his  at- 
titude. They  did  not  recognize  the  sort  of 
petulant  shamefacedness  that  hindered  him 
from  coming  forth  boldly  in  defence  of  prin- 
ciples which  he  fully  endorsed  in  his  secret 
heart,  and  made  him  fear  to  cut  himself 
loose  from  the  side  on  which  he  hud  talien 
so  bold  a  stand,  lest  the  epithet  of  "  turn 
coat,"  be  fixed  upon  him.  Kedar  had  not 
yet  been  touched  by  that  "  live  coal  "  whicli 
alone  can  set  man  in  touch  with  God,  and 
free  him  from  all  human  restrictions.  But 
though  he  said  littk,  he  was  thinlcing  deeply. 
He  was  not  indifferent;  and  there  is  ever 
great  room  f(jr  liope  where  there  is  not  indif- 
ference. 

And  while  the  little  Moccan  household 
was  thus  engrossed  in  its  (twn  circle,  mo- 
mentous events  were  happening  without 
tlie  capital. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

INTERVENING   EVENTS. 

URING  the  months 
that  followed,  Mo- 
hammed still  went 
on  in  his  career  of 
conquest— a  course 
rendered  easier  day 
by  day,  as  his  ene- 
mies were  now 
weak  Indeed.  The  tribes  of  Watiba.  Sela- 
lima  and   Bedr  speedily  gave  way   before 


him,  but  were  permitted  to  remain  in  tlielr 
homes  upon  the  payment  of  a  heavy  yearly 
tribute. 

He  made  one  more  pilgrimage  to  Mecca, 
and  on  this  occasion  the  Koreish,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  truce,  ofiCered  no  resistance: 
hence  for  three  days  the  prophet  and  his 
shaven  followers  walked  the  streets  of 
Mecca,  and  performed  Tawaf  at  the  Temple. 

Mohammed  found  the  Caaba  still  dese- 
crated by  Idols,  and,  while  pressing  his  lips 
to  the  sacred  Black  Stone,  he  solemnly 
vowed  to  conquer  Mecca  and  to  remove  the 
pollution  of  images  from  the  floor  of  the 
sanctuary. 

In  the  meantime,  the  itrophet  enticed  many 
of  the  most  prominent  fauulies  of  Mecca  to 
his  standard.  By  his  marriage  with  the  aunt 
of  Klialed  Ibn  Waled  he  secured  the  alliance 
of  that  famous  soldier;  and  by  marrying 
0mm  Habiba,  daughter  of  Abu  Sofiau,  he 
hoped  to  gain  the  friendship  of  hi.^  ancient 
and  inveterate  enemy. 

But  time  seemed  to  lag,  and  his  restless 
spirit  soon  set  Itself  to  look  about  for  some 
l)retext  by  which  he  miglit  attack  Mecca.  A 
casual  skirmish  of  a  few  soldiers  of  the 
Koreish  with  a  detachment  of  his  soldiers 
gave  the  necessary  excusv\  and  he  at  once 
charged  the  Koreisli  with  Jiaving  broken  the 
truce.  They  were  anxious  to  make  overtures 
of  peace,  but  Mohammed  would  listen  to 
nothing. 

All  saw  plainly  tliat  no  concessions  would 
conciliate  a  conqueror  thus  bent  upon  hos- 
tility, and  the  attitude  of  Mecca  became  that 
of  a  patient  waiting,  a  dread  looking  for  a 
surely  impending  calamity  ready  to  fall  at 
any  hour. 

And  yet.  when  it  did  come,  the  Meccans 
were  not  expecting  it,  so  silent,  m)  sudden 
was  the  swoop  of  the  con<iueroP;  Every  road 
leading  to  Mecca  was  barrorl  by  Mohammed, 
so  that  none  might  tell  of  ids  plans.  All  his 
allies  received  a  mysterious  summons  to 
meet  him  at  a  point  some  distance  from 
Mecca,  and  they  came  none  the  less  readily 
that  tliey  did  not  know  why  they  were  thus 
asMcniljled. 

With  a  host  of  ten  thousand  men,  Moham- 


82 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


med  set  out  over  the  barren  plains,  and 
through  the  deflles  of  the  mountains.  Like 
a  vast  funeral  procession  the  long  train 
wound  its  way  in  a  silence  broken  only  by 
the  dull  tread  of  the  beasts  and  the  whis- 
pered ejaculations  of  the  soldiers.  In  the 
night  they  reached  the  appointed  valley. 
Lines  of  men  came  pouring  in  from  every 
side,  and  at  last,  as  a  signal  to  all  the  rest, 
Omar,  the  chief  in  command,  gave  the  order 
that  the  watch-fires  be  lighted,— and  at  once 
every  summit  sent  up  its  spire  of  flame. 

The  citizens  of  Mecca  were  stricken  with 
awo. 

"  I  myself  will  go  and  see  what  this 
n>€'ans,"  said  Abu  Sofian;  and  with  a  single 
companion  he  set  out  over  the  hills.  As  they 
stood  in  sight  of  the  great  host  below,  the 
step  of  men  sounded  near  them.  They  were 
soizetl  as  spies,  and  hurried  off  to  the  tent  of 
Omar. 

The  bright  light  of  Omar's  camp-fire  re- 
vealed the  white  hair  and  flashing  eye  of  the 
grim  old  warrior. 

"By  the  prophet  of  Allah!  Ye  have 
bi-ouglit  in  a  rich  prize!"  exclaimed  Omar, 
and  his  dagger  flashed  in  the  firelight  as  he 
drew  it  to  plunge  into  Abu  Sofian's  bosom. 
But  deliverance  was  near.  Out  from  the 
darkness  galloped  Al  Abbas,  uncle  of  Mo- 
hammed, mounted  on  the  prophet's  white 
mule.  He  caught  the  Meccan  up  with  him, 
and  hastened  off  to  the  tout  of  the  prophet. 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  Moliammed.  "  you  have 
come  at  last,  Abu  Soflan,  to  acknowledge  the 
supremacy  of  the  prophet  of  Allah?" 

"  I  come,"  said  Abu  Soflan  surlily.  "  to  beg 
mercy  for  my  people." 

"Will  you.  then,  acknowledge  AJ  ;tmmed 
as  the  prophet  of  God?  Do  this.  X\m  Soflan, 
and  thy  life  .nhall  be  spared,  and  terms  of 
peace  granted  to  all  Me(«.<ns  who  are  will- 
ing to  follow  their  leader's  »-xample. " 

Abu  Soflan  stive  a  surly  •ssent,  and  was 
set  free.  F-voiable  terms  for  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  city  were  t^en  Resented  to  him; 
»nd,  tliat  he  might  ^.  aMe  to  tak*  back  with 
Mm  a  full  account  of  tlie  strengiMl  of  the 
pn<^?iM»t's  army,  b*  «ra«  placed  with  Al 
AMmm    at    the    head    of    a    narrow    defile, 


through  which  the  whole  army,  with  flutter- 
ing banners  and  proudly  flapping  standards, 
passed  before  him. 

Even  the  stern  old  wariior  stood  aghast  at 
the  mighty  multitude.  He  returned  to  the 
city,  and,  from  the  roof  of  the  Caaba,  once 
more  assembled  the  people  of  Mecca.  Then, 
while  they  listened,  with  bowed  heads  and 
heaving  sobs,  he  told  them  of  the  great  host, 
of  the  uselessness  of  resistance,  and  of  the 
terms  ottered  in  case  of  submission.  To  this 
course,  humiliating  as  it  was,  he  strongly 
urged  them.  Silent  in  despair,  or  weeping 
wildly,  they  returned  to  their  homes,  and 
that  night  the  darkness  which  fell  seemed 
like  a  pall  upon  the  stricken  city. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  TRIUMPHANT  ENTRANCE    INTO  MECCA. 

"  One  murder  made  a  vil- 
lain; millions,  a  hero."  — 
I'orteus. 

PON  the  following  morn- 
ing ere  the  sun  rose,  a 
deputation  was  sent  to 
the  prophet  to  inform 
him  that  his  terms  had 
been  accepted. 

The    people   of    Mecca 
were  curious  to  note  the 
Li  y^^^  triumphant   entrance   of 

■'''^^  the    great    conqueror. 

Many,  indeed,  threw  themselves  upon  their 
fac»i«  in  agony  of  lost  hope;  but  the  house- 
tops SAvarmed  with  people,  and  the  side  of 
Abu  Kubays  was  moving  with  a  dense 
crowd  of  women  and  children,  who,  at  a 
safe  distance,  watched  for  the  strange 
pageant. 

The  prophet  was  allowed  to  enter  the  bor- 
ders of  the  town  unmolested,  but  \s  hen  the 
deserter,  Khated  Ibn  Waled,  appeared,  the 
rage  of  the  Koreish  knew  no  bo'  '"' ■;  n  howi 
of  derision  iirose,  and  an  u:  •:'>v<T;uih.' :  rv  i) 
fired  straight  upon  him  wuh  tl.  i/-  arrniA?. 
Khaletf  dashed  uiwn  V '^nx  wii;  ;;  •<  .'c  vaLl 
lance,  but  Molmmmec.,  noting  .i..^  xiumo- 
tion,  ra^K  «p  and  ordered  him  to  deslr  f. 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


83 


The  mC'K^e  subsided,  and,  just  as  the  sun 
rose  over  Abu  Kubnys,  the  conqueror  en- 
tered the  city.  He  was  habited  in  scarlet, 
and  mounted  upon  a  large  Syrian  camel; 
and,  as  he  rode,  followed  by  the  whole  host 
o<  his  army,  he  repeated  aloud  passages  from 
the  Koran. 

Straight  on  towards  the  Caaba  he  went, 
looking  neither  to  right  nor  to  left.  Its  gates 
were  thrown  opt'n  before  him,  and  the  vast 
procession,  with  the  prophet  at  its  head,  per- 
formed Tawaf  about  the  temple.  Then,  ere 
the  mighty  trampling  ceased,  Mohammed 
entered  the  Caaba— that  Caaba  in  which  he 
had  been  spat  upon  and  covered  with  mud 
thrown  by  derisive  hands.  Little  wonder 
that  he  felt  his  triumph  complete! 

Three  hundred  and  sixty  idols  still  stared 
from  the  walls  of  the  temple,  and,  ere  night 
fell,  not  an  image  remained  to  pollute  an 
edifice  in  which,  if  in  ever  so  blind  a  man- 
ner, the  name  of  the  living  God  had  been 
once  mentioned. 

Mohammed  then  took  his  stand  upon  the 
little  hill  Al  Safa,  and  gave  the  command 
that  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  Mecca, 
save  those  detained  by  illness,  should  pass 
before  him. 

Kedar  found  his  weakness  a  suflicient 
reason  for  remaining  at  home,  but  Yusuf, 
Amzi,  and  Manasseh  were  forced  to  join  the 
long  procession. 

One  by  one,  the  inhabitants  knelt  before 
the  victor,  renouncing  idolatry  and  declaring 
their  fealty  to  him  as  their  governor  and 
spiritual  head.  But  a  few  among  the  Chris- 
tian Jews  refused  to  acknowledge  him  as  the 
prophet  of  God. 

"  As  conqueror  we  accept  you,"  they  said; 
"  as  subjects  we  will  obey  you  in  all  that 
does  not  interfere  with  our  worship  of  the 
true  God,  and  his  Son,  the  Cln'ist,  But  as 
Mohammed  prophet  of  God,  we  will  not  ac- 
knowledge you." 

The  pr^)phet^  however,  was  In  a  lenient 
frame  of  mind.  At  no  time  a  cruel  tjraut 
when  victory  was  onct  assured,,  he  was  still 
less  inclined  to  be  so  upon  a  day  when  every- 
tliing  augured  so  favorably  for  the  future. 
Moreover,  when  it  seemed  to  him  practica- 


ble, Mohammed  delighted  in  showing  mercy. 
This  trait  is  but  one  of  the  incomprehensible 
features  of  his  strange,  contradictory  char- 
acter. 

"So  be  it,"  he  returned,  graciously.  "I  give 
you  your  lives  and  property.  They  are  a 
gift  fi-om  the  prophet  ye  despise.  Yet,  lest 
ye  be  stirrers  up  of  sedition,  I  enjoin  you  to 
leave  the  city  with  what  expedition  ye  will. 
Go  where  ye  please,  provided  it  be  out  of 
my  dominions;  take  what  time  ye  need  to 
settle  your  affairs,  and  dispose  of  your 
property;  then,  in  the  name  of  Allah.  I  bid 
you  good  speed." 

The  Jews,  among  them  Yusuf  and  Amzi, 
passed  thankfully  on.  A  tall,  gaunt.  Bedouin 
woman,  with  flashing  eyes  and  hands  show- 
ing like  the  claws  of  a  vulture  beneath  her 
black  robe,  came  next.  It  was  Heuda  in  dis- 
guise. 

"  What!"  exclaimed  the  prophet,  with  a 
smile,  "  has  Abu  Solian  taken  to  the  hills 
again,  that  his  wife  thus  comes  in  Bedouin 
garb?"' 

Henda,  seeing  that  her  disguise  was  pene- 
trated, fell  at  liis  feet  imploring  for  pardon. 

*'  I  forgive  you  freely,"  he  said,  raising  her 
to  her  feet.  "  You  will  now  acknowledge 
your  prophet?" 

"  Never!"  cried  the  Koroish  woman. 

"Boldly  said!"  returned  Mohammed.  "Tlie 
wife  of  Abu  Soflan  doth  not  readily  follow  in 
the  path  of  her  master.  He  has  trained  her 
but  poorly.  Yet.  go  In  peace,  O  daughter  of 
the  Korelsh,  and  know  that  the  prophet  of 
Islam  has  a  merciful  heart." 

Thus  passed  the  whole  long  day  until  the 
stars  shone  through  the  blue;  and  Moham- 
med went  to  rest,  serene  in  his  triumph,  yet 
troubled  by  bodily  pain,  for.  ever  since  he 
had  eaten  the  poisoned  mutton  at  Khaibar, 
his  health  had  been  steadily  declining. 

In  a  few  days  he  returned  to  Medina.  A 
frosh  revelation  of  the  Koran,  commending 
fully  his  doctrine  of  the  sword,  was  there 
proclaimed  from  the  mosque;  and  to  Khaled 
was  given  the  *ask  of  subjugating  the  re- 
maining tribes. 

'J'lio  prophet's  health  now  began  to  give 
way  raj)idly,  and  he  resolved  upon  a  laat  pil- 


84 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


grimaf?e  to  the  holy  city.  In  the  montli 
Kamadhan,  at  the  heart  of  one  hunrtred 
thousand  men,  the  mightiest  expedition  he 
had  ever  led,  he  started  for  Mecca.  He  rode 
In  a  litter,  and  about  him  were  liis  nine 
wives,  also  seated  in  litters;  while,  at  the 
rear  of  the  procession,  trudged  a  great  array 
of  camels  destined  for  sacritiee.  and  gayly 
decorated  witli  ribbons  and  flowers. 

About  a  day's  journey  from  Mecca,  at  twi- 
light, the  vast  host  met  tlie  troops  of  Ali,  re- 
turning from  an  expedition  into  Yemen,  and 
these  Immediiitely  turned  with  the  pilgrim- 
age. It  was  a  weird  and  impressive  scene. 
In  the  night,  the  augmented  host  now 
pressed  onward,  with  increased  impatience, 
over  a  plain  strewn  with  basaltic  drift.  The 
soft  thud  of  padded  feet  sounded  over  the 
hard  ground.  Huge  camels  loomed  shape- 
lessly  through  the  uncertain  haze.  No  voice 
of  mirth  or  singing  arose  from  the  vast 
assemblage,  but  the  ni.^ht-wind  sighed 
through  the  ribs  of  the  scant-leaved  acacias 
above,  and  stooped  to  blow  the  red  flames  of 
the  torches  back  in  a  smoky  glare;  while, 
here  and  there,  a  more  pretentious  light. 
Issuing  from  between  the  curtains  of  a  shujjj- 
dvif.  shed  a  passing  gleam  upon  the  dusky 
;';;;. IS  of  the  pilgrims,  ploddjng  like  eerie 
genii  of  the  night  over  tlie  Ijarren  wilds. 

Next  morning,  the  host  reached  Mecca. 
The  prophet  once  more  entered  tlie  sacred 
court-yard  of  the  temple,  and  was  borne 
sadly  about  the  Caaba  in  Tawaf.  Tlien. 
weak  as  he  was,  he  insisted  upon  taking  part 
in  the  sacrificial  ceremony.  With  his  own 
hand  he  slew  sixty-three  camels,  one  for 
each  year  of  his  life.  Then  he  ascended  the 
pulpit  and  preached  to  the  people. 

Upon  his  return  to  Medina,  he  preached 
again  from  the  mosque,  en.loining  upon  the 
faithful  strict  compliance  with  th(»  form  of 
worship  set  forth  in  the  Koran  and  by  the 
exani|»le  of  the  prophet— the  giving  of  alms; 
prayer  towards  tlie  kebla;  tlic  performniicc 
of  Tawaf.  and  ablutions  at  Zem-Zem;  pros- 
tration prayers  at  the  Caaba,  and  all  the 
rites  of  pilgrimage.  Thus  did  Mohammed 
formulate  the  rules  for  the  future  guidance 
of  the  Moslem  vorld. 


CHAPTEIl  XXVTII. 
KEDAR  AT  THE  C.      BA. 

NCE  more  the  shades  of  night 
hung  over  the  Eastern  world. 
And  there,  while  the  hush  of 
slumber  fell  upon  the  hills  of 
the  North,  the  cities  of  the 
South  awoke  to  life  and  bus- 
tle, for  during  the  earlier  half 
of  the  hours  of  darkness  the  Ori- 
ental awakes  from  the  lethargy  of 
the  day,  and  really  begins  to  live. 
The  moon,  almost  at  full,  and  glowing  like 
a  silver  orb  on  a  purple  sea,  rose  slowly  over 
the  black  top  of  Abu  Kubays,  tipping  its 
crest  with  a  shimmering  line  of  light,  and 
throwing  its  radiance  across  the  vale  below, 
where  all  lay  shapeless  in  shade  save  the 
top  of  the  huge  temple,  which,  with  its  pall- 
like kiswaii  (.urtain)  arose  like  a  bier  above 
the  low  himses  about  it.  Upon  it  the  moon- 
beams fell  with  solemn,  white  light,  and  the 
young  man  standing  alone  by  one  of  the  pil- 
lars of  the  portico  felt  a  thrill  of  awe  as  he 
looked  upon  the  mysteriouH  structure,  and 
thought  of  the  great  antiquity  of  the  institu- 
tion. 

For  the  moment,  lost  in  contemplation,  he 
was  oblivious  to  the  swarnung  of  the  dusky 
multitudes  now  pouring  into  the  court-yard 
on  all  sides.  Then,  as  the  increasing  hum 
fell  upon  his  ears,  he  gave  them  his  atteu 
tiou.  It  was  the  scene  of  which  he  had  so 
often  heard,  and  upon  which  he  now  looked 
for  the  first  time.  There  were  the  people  at 
Tawaf,  walking,  running,  or  standing  with 
upturned  eyes,  sanctlnionio«isly  repeating 
passages  of  the  Koran;  there  were  the  fran- 
tic few  clinging  to  the  great  ftrids  of  the 
Iclswah,  as  tliough  its  contact  procure<l  for 
tlieui  eternal  salvation:  there  were  the 
crowds  gulping  down  copious  draughts  of 
the  brackish  water  of  Zem-Zem,  or  pouring 
It  upon  their  heads. 

There,   too,  wiilun  a  stone's  throw  of  the 
t(  mpte,  wer"  the  busy  stalls  of  the  venders, 
when»t;  issaed  cries  of: 
"Cucnrobers!    Cucumlxrs  O!" 
"Gr.'ipesl    Crapes!-  hiscious      and      juicy 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


85 


wfth  the  crystal  dews  of  Tayf!    Grapes.  O 
faithful!" 

"  Who  will  buy  cloth  of  Daniasrns.  rich 
and  fit  for  a  kingV  Come,  buy  thy  lady  a 
veil!  Buy  a  veil  to 
screen  her  charms 
blooming  as  the  rosy 
light  of  morn,  to 
screen  her  hair  black 
as  midnight  shades  on 
the  liills  of  Nejd,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling 
like  diamonds  of 
Oman!" 

"  O  water!  Precious 
water  from  Zem- 
Zem!  Water  to  wash 
away  thy  sin,  and 
help  thee  into  Para- 
dise! O  beli«n'or,  buy 
water  of  Zem-Zem!" 

And  there,  beneath 
the  twinkling  lights 
of  the  portico,  sat  a 
group  of  Abyssinian 
girls,  waiting  to  be 
sold  ns  slaves. 

As  tlio  yontli  looked 
upon  it  all  witli  no  lit- 
tle curiosity  he  ob- 
served the  crowd  give 
way  before  a  man 
clothed  wholly  in 
white,  who  procei'dod 
directly  to  the  0(i»llta 
and,  pausing  benoalli 
the  drtor.  gave  utt«>i' 
ance  to  a  loud  prayer, 
while  the  people 
about  fell  prostrate 
OB  the  ground.  Then, 
in  a  \nm\  voice,  he 
commanded  that  the 
stair  be  brought.  At- 
tendants hastened  to  roll  the  bulky  structure 
into  its  place,  and  the  priest,  or  guardian  of 
the  temple,  ascended,  and  received  from  his 
attendants  several  buckets  of  water  which 
he  carried  into  the  edifice. 

Presently,  small  streams  began  to  trickle 


from  the  doorway,  and  the  guardian's  white 
vestments  again  appeared,  as  he  proceeded 
to  sweep  the  water  out,  dashing  it  far  over 
the   steps.    The   people   rushed   beneath   it, 


"  Be  not  discouraged,  my  son,"  was  Usuf  s  reply.— See  page  37. 


crowding  over  one  another  in  their  anxiety, 
holding  their  upturned  faccg  towards  it,  and 
counting  themselves  blessed  tf  a  drop  of  it 
fell  upon  them.  It  was  the  ^-eremony  of 
washing  the  Caaba. 
The   youth   beside   the   pillar,    though    he 


86 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


wore  Moslem  garb,  looked  on  in  contempt; 
and,  barely  waiting  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
ceremony,  walked  proudly  from  the  enclos- 
ure, merely  pausing  to  examine  somewhat 
critically  the  Black  Stone,  which,  deserted 
for  the  moment,  was  visible  in  the  red  light 
of  a  torch  above.  Then,  passing  through  the 
nearest  gate,  he  walked,  rather  feebly,  to- 
wards the  house  of  Amzi. 

Yusuf,  wearied  after  a  long  day's  work, 
was  resting  upon  the  carpeted  Masta- 
bah  (platform)  which  forms  a  part  of  tlie 
vestibule  of  every  comfortable  house  in 
Mecca.  There  was  no  light  in  the  apartment 
save  that  afforded  by  the  dim  glimmer  of  a 
flre-pan,  over  which  bubbled  a  fragrant  urn 
of  coffee.  His  thoughts  had  been  wandering 
back  over  the  events  of  his  changeful  life; 
events  which  would  culminate,  as  far  as  his 
Immediate  history  was  concerned,  in  Ids 
early  banishment  from  this  city  of  his  adop- 
tion. The  little  Jewish  band  would  go  to- 
getlier— precisely  where,  they  did  not  know, 
—Amzi,  Manasseh,  the  family  of  Asru,  a  few 
other  devoted  souls,  and,  it  was  to  be  hoped, 
Kodar. 

Yusuf s  thoughts  dwelt  upon  Kedar.  To- 
night he  seemed  to  feel  a  sweet  assurance 
that  his  prayers  in  the  youth's  behalf  were 
soon  tj  be  answered;  and,  in  the  darkness, 
he  'lied  out  for  the  lad's  salvation,  until 
the  blessed  Lord  seemed  so  near  tliat  he  al- 
most fancied  he  coidd  put  forth  his  hand 
and  feel  the  strong,  loving,  helping  touch  of 
Him  who  said,  "  I  am  the  good  shepherd, 
and  know  my  sheep,  and  am  known  of  mine. 
.  .  And  other  sheep  I  have,  which  a'e  not 
of  this  fold;  them  also  I  must  bring;  and 
they  shall  hear  my  voice;  and  there  shall  be 
CUP  fold,  and  onf  .-sliepherd." 

A  step  sounded  on  tin-  door-stofte.  and  the 
vi»ry  yt     .^  of  whom  Yusuf  was  thinking  en- 

"Well,  my  Kedar."  said  the  prlesf,  "have 
you  been  enjoying  the  nioonT 

"I  have  been  to  the  Caaba."  returned  Ke 
dnr.    with   amused   contempt   in    his   voice, 
"yet  I  have  neither  swung  by  the  kiswah 
nor  drenched    myself,    like  a  rain-draggled 
hen,  at  Zem-Zena." 


"  And  you  have  not  kissed  the  Black 
Stone?" 

"  Neither  have  I  kissed  the  stone.  By  my 
faith,  if  it  has  become  blackened  by  the 
kiss  of  sfnners,  those  poor  simpletons  caress 
it  in  vain!  On  the  word  of  a  Bedouin,  it  can 
Iiold  no  more,  since  it  Is  as  black  as  well 
may  be  already." 

"  The  worship  of  our  little  church,  then, 
suits  you  better?"  The  priest's  tone  scarcely 
concealed  the  anxiety  with  which  he  asked 
the  question. 

"  You  seem  to  worship  in  truth,"  returned 
the  youth,  solemnly.  "  You  seem  to  find  a 
comfort  In  your  service  which  these  poor 
blindlings  seek  in  vain.  Aye,  Yusuf,  in  liv- 
ing among  you  I  have  noted  the  peaceful 
tenor  of  your  lives,  the  rest  and  confidence 
which  nothing  seems  to  overthrow.  You  re- 
joice in  life,  yet  you  do  not  fear  death! 
Could  such  a  life  be  mine,  I  would  gladly  ac- 
cept it.    But  I  do  not  seem  to  be  one  of  you." 

The  priest  made  no  reply  for  a  moment. 
Kedar  did  not  know  that  he  was  praying  for 
the  fit  word.  Then  his  deep,  tender  tones 
broke  the  silence. 

"  You  believe  in  .Tesus,  whom  we  love?" 

"  I  believe  that  he  was  the  Son  of  God; 
that  he  lived  on  tlie  very  hills  to  the  uorlli 
of  us;  that  he  died  to  reveal  to  us  the  great- 
ness of  his  love.    Yet—"    He  paused. 

"  '  Whosoever  believeth  on  the  Son  hath 
everlasting  life,'  "  said  Yusuf  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  know,  but—"  the  youth  hesitated  again. 

"  Hut  what,  Kedar?"  asked  the  priest. 

".Tesus  said  to  Nicodemus,"  returned  the 
youth,  "  '  Except  a  man  be  born  again,  he 
cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  lieaven.'  Yusuf, 
this  is  what  bothers  me,  I  cannot  under- 
stand this  being  born  again."  '        ^   . 

"Let  us  call  it,  then,  just  'beginning  to 
love  and  trust  .Tesus,'  "  said  Yusuf  quietly. 

Kedar  almost  started  in  his  surprise.  This 
aspect  of  the  question  had  never  appeared 
to  hhn  bt'fore.  For  a  long  time  he  sat,  deep 
tn  thought,  and  Yusuf  did  not  break  in  upon 
his  meditations. 

"  Is  that  alir'  he  asked  at  length.    , 

"  That  is  all.'  returned  Yusuf.  "  To  trust 
him    you    must    believe    in    liim.    love    him, 


iat&rtifWllitii"-Nai'-h 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


87 


recognize  his  love,  and  leave  everything  to 
his  guidance— everything  In  this  physical 
life,  In  your  spiritual  life,  and  in  the  life  to 
come.  Then  you  will  find  peace.  All  your 
days  will  be  spent  in  a  loving  round  of 
happy  labor,  in  which  no  worli  seems  low  or 
trifling— happy  because  love  to  Jesus  begets 
the  wish  to  do  his  will  in  every  affa'.r  of  life: 
and  perfect  love  renders  service,  not  n  bond- 
age, but  the  joyful  spontaneity  of  freedom." 

Kedar  was  again  silent,  then  he  said 
slowly: 

"  Yu«uf.  I  begin  to  understand  it  all  now: 
yet  — is  there  something  wrong  still?  — I 
have  not  *he  overpowering  tlnill  of  joy,  the 
exuberance  of  feeling,  tlie  wondrous  rapture 
of  delight,  which  Amzi  says  he  experienced, 
when,  in  the  prison  of  Medina,  he  saw  the 
light." 

"  Be  not  discouraged,  my  son,"  was  the 
reply.  "  To  different  temperaments,  in  re- 
ligion as  in  all  else,  the  trutli  appeals  In  dif- 
ferent ways.  If  you  are  trusting  implicitly 
now  in  (Jod's  love,  go  on  without  doubt 
or  fear.  Most  Christians  —  growing  Chris- 
tians—find that  at  different  stages  in  their 
experience  certain  truths  stand  out  more 
clearly,  and,  as  the  days  fio  by,  their  dlffl- 
cnlties  clear  away  like  mists  before  the 
morning  sun." 

"  Yusuf.  can  I  ever  become  such  a  Chris- 
tian as  you?'  returned  Kedar,  In  a  half-awed 
tone  at  the  thought. 

"  My  son.  look  not  on  me."  returned  Yusuf, 
tenderly.  "  Strive  only  to  perceive  .Tesus  in 
rll  your  life,  to  find  him  a  reality  to  you— a 
companon,  ever  with  you,  walking  by  your 
side  ivi  the  hot  mart,  riding  by  you  in  the 
des^:-*^,  sitting  by  you  in  solitude.— then, 
where  he  Is,  evil  cannot  come.  Your  life 
will  become  all  upright,  conscientious,  and 
loving,  for  his  life  will  show  through  yours." 

"  And  do  temptations  never  come  to  those 
so  blessed?" 

"  Ah,  yes.  Kedar.  so  long  as  life  lasts  '  our 
adversary,  the  devil,  goeth  about  as  a  roar- 
ing lion  seeking  whom  he  may  devour.'  Yet, 
think  you  that  the  God  who  '  stretdietli  out 
tlie  heavens  as  a  curtain,  who  layeth  the 
beams  of  his  chambers  in  the  waters,  who 


maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot,  who  walketh 
upon  the  wings  of  the  wind,  who  maketh 
his  ang(>ls  spirits,  his  ministers  a  flaming 
tire '— tldnk  you  that  such  an  One  Is  not  able 
to  stand  between  you  and  the  tempter? 
Think  you  that  he  before  wliom  devils  cried 
out  In  fear,  is  not  able  to  deliver  you  from 
the  power  of  evil?  Kedar,  know  that  tlie 
Clu'lstian  may  even  glory  in  his  own  weak- 
ness, for  .Tesus  lias  said,  '  My  strength  is 
made  perfect  In  weakness;'  and  yet.  while 
thus  feeling  his  lielpiessness.  tiie  believer 
must  ever  be  conscious  of  the  unconquer- 
able strength  of  Christ,  and  should  rest 
serene  in  tlie  knowledge  that,  clothed  In  the 
full  arnu»r  of  God,  he  Is  able  to  withstand 
all  the  darts  of  the  wicked  one." 

1  (dar  said  no  more,  but  from  that  hour 
his  humility,  his  patience,  his  gentleness,  be- 
gan to  show  forth  as  the  outcome  of  the 
jiower  of  that  working  of  tlie  Spirit,  whose 
fruit  is  "  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gen- 
rleness,  goodness,  faith,  meekness,  temper- 
ance." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

KEDAR  RETURNS  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Death  exempts  not  a  man  from  being   but  only 
presents  an  alteration."— i/acora. 

HEN  Kedar  left 
Yusuf  on  that 
memorable  night 
it  was  not  to  sleep. 
He  ascended  the 
stair  and  went  out 
upon  the  hanging 
balcony,  where  he 
^  could  look  at  the  sky  and 
the  mountains,  and  ponder 
over  the  conversation  of  the  evening.  His 
was  not  the  excitable,  rapturous  joy  experi- 
enced by  many,  but  a  feeling  of  quiet  con- 
tentment that  settled  upon  his  soul,  and 
brouglit  a  calm  smile  to  his  features. 

So  he  sat,  when  Manasseh  burst  upon  him 
exclaiming,  "  What!  my  Invalid  able  to  stay 
up  all  the  night  as  well  as  half  the  day! 
Come,  listen  to  me!    I  have  news!"  -  , 


88 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


"  YoH?"  -'J'  '  ■'    ' '     '  ''    •■'!■■     •■'■'  -i 

"  This  evenlnp  n  oonHor  from  MofUna  ar- 
rived In  the  city.  He  hns  with  him  n  prochi- 
tnatlon  requiring  all  unsuhmlsslve  Jews  to 
leave  Mecca  by  to-morrow  nljjht  at  the 
latest." 

*'  Po  soon!"  exclaimed  Kedar.  "  Where 
are  tin .    to  go?" 

"I  have  just  talked  witli  Ynsnf.  and  with 
Amzl,  who,  poor  fat  man!  Ik  trying  to  get  a 
little  sleep  In  the  fr*  li  air  of  tlic  housetop. 
They  propose  that  wt-  join  my  father's  fam- 
ily In  Palestine.  Of  course.  I  do  not  ob- 
ject!" added  the  yonth.  with  a  smile. 

"Think  you  it  will  be  safe  for  so  small  a 
band  to  face  the  dangers  of  the  desert 
alone?"  asked  Kedar. 

*'  A  caravan  loaves  for  Danuiscus  to-mor- 
row," replied  Manassch.  "  Fortunately  we 
may  obtain  its  protection." 

"Good!  Then  I  slmll  turn  aside  to  the 
table-lands  of  Nejd  and  see  my  parents 
again,"  said  Kednr. 

"  Think  you  your  parents  would  join  our 
band?" 

Kedar  shook  his  head.  "  Not  likely.  You 
see  my  father  has  lived  all  his  days  as  a 
Bedouin.  To  be  tied  down  to  commerce  he 
would  consider  a  degradation.  Neither 
would  he  become  a  shepherd,  a  watching 
sheep  is  a  tas;k  held  tit  for  women  only  in 
our  tribe." 

"  And  will  you  stay  with  thorn,  Kedar?" 
asked  INIanasseh. 

*'  I  know  not.  We  will  see  what  the  future 
has  In  store;  but,  at  any  rate,"  he  added, 
half  slyly,  "  your  cousin  Kedar  will  wear  the 
Moslem  turban  no  more." 

The  tone,  ratlier  than  the  words,  told  all. 
Manasseh  took  a  quick,  sharp  loolc  at  the 
face  smiling  quietly  in  the  moonlight,  then 
he  seized  Kedar's  hand  warmly  and  whis- 
pered, "  I  am  glad." 

The  following  day  was  spent  In  packing 
and  bidding  adieux.  Yusuf  and  Amzl  passed 
the  last  hours  among  their  poor,  and,  from 
the  housetop,  Kedar  and  Manassen  saw  them 
retm*ning  In  the  evening,  followed  by  a 
ragged  crowd  who  clung  to  vheir  govv'ns  or 
wiped  tearful  eyes  with  tattered  sleeves.       i 


The  sun  went  down  as  the  caravan  left 
the  city,  and  on  an  eminence  al>ove.  the  little 
Jewish  band  stojijjed  t<»  take  a  last  look  at 
their  old  home— Mecca,  with  Its  low  houses, 
its  crooked  streets,  its  mystic  Caaba,  and  Its 
weird  mountain  scenery. 

All  gray  it  lay  beneatli  the  shades  of  fall- 
ing night;  yet,  as  they  looked,  a  wondrous 
change  ensued.  Gradually  the  landsf^ape  be- 
gan to  brighten;  the  houses  shone  forth;  the 
aloe  trees  l)ecame  green;  tlie  side  of  Abu 
Kul)ays  sparkled  with  a  seemingly  self- 
endtted  light;  the  rocks  of  the  I'ed  mountain 
were  dyed  with  u  rosy  glow;  the  Caaba  grew 
more  and  more  distinct,  until  even  the 
folds  of  its  kiswah  were  visible;  and  the 
sand  of  the  narrow  valley  shone,  beneath  a 
saffron  sky  above,  with  a  coppery  radiance. 
It  was  the  wondrous  "after-glow"  of  the 
Orient,— a  scene  unhjue  in  Its  beauty,  yet  not 
often  beheld  In  so  sheltered  a  spot  as  Mecca. 

The  exiles,  with  tearful  eyes,  looked  upon 
the  fair  landscape,  which  thus  seemed  to  l)id 
them  an  Inanimate  farewell.  Then,  as  the 
glow  paled  and  the  rocks  again  took  their 
sombre  hue,  and  the  city  faded  in  redoubled 
shadow%  the  little  band  turned  slowly  away, 
and  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  caravan 
now  winding  through  tlie  pass  at  some  dis- 
tance. 

Tlie  Hebrew  band  consisted  of  twenty 
souls,  among  whom  were  Sherali,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Asm,  and  her  mother,  and  the  old 
white-haired  man  Benjarain,  who  had 
preached  in  the  church  and  had  l>ecome  a 
father  Indeed  to  Asru's  family. 

Needless  to  speak  of  the  long,  tedious  jour- 
ney. Suflice  It  to  say  that,  wldle  the  cara- 
van wound  through  the  north  of  El  Hejaz, 
Kedar  and  Manasseh  turned  aside  to  the 
fresher  plateaux  of  the  Nejd,  and  the  Be- 
douin once  more  found  himself  amid  the 
scenes  of  his  boyhood 

His  spirits  rose  as  the  cool  breeze  from  the 
plains  struclc  him.  The  vision  of  swoet 
home  —  sweet  to  the  roving  Bedouin  as  to 
the  pampered  cliild  of  luxury— rose  before 
him,  and  he  urged  his  horse  on  with  an  ever- 
increasing  anxiety. 

From  neighboring  tribes  they  found  out 


THE   PAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


89 


the  way  to  Musa'H  i»i<'s«>nt  ciK'niupuuMif. 
then,  8{)urrini;  th<>ir  horses  on  over  a  criHii 
plnln,  and  b<>^uUing  the  time  with  ninny  a 
lauitjh  and  jost,  they  proceodrd  In  the  dlr«*c- 
tion  lndl(  sited,  until,  ii  a  broad  valley,  the 
circle  of  U'Qts  lay  before  them. 

"  Come,  Manasseh,"  huUI  Kedar,  "  let  uk 
give  them  a  surprise.  Let  us  take  n  tm-n  up 
yonder  hill  and  swoop  down  upon  them  like 
a  fakt»n." 

"Agreed!"  quoth  Manasseh;  and,  with  al- 
most childish  pleasure,  they  proceeded  to 
make  a  short  detour,  and  then  iralloped  rap- 
Idly  down  from  the  hill-crest. 

The  encampment  was  strangely  nuit  t. 

"What  Is  the  matter,  Manassel  V"  asked 
Kedar.    "  There  Is  scarcely  anyone  about." 

A  few  dogs  now  set  v;p  a  savage  barking, 
and  a  man  came  out  with  a  heavy  whip  and 
drove  them,  yelping,  away. 

"  What  Is  wrong,  Tema?"  asked  Kedar, 
anxiously. 

"Alas,  my  young  master."  said  the  man. 
"your  father  will  soon  be  no  more.'' 

The  youth  sprang  to  the  gioiuul  and  en- 
tered tl  »»  chief's  tent.  There  lay  the  brave 
old  Sheikh,  dying,  as  he  had  scorned  to  die, 
In  his  bed,  with  pallid  face  and  closed  eyt»K, 
his  gray  hair  damp  and  tangled,  and  iiis 
grizzled  beard  descending  upon  his  brawny 
chest,  from  which  the  folds  of  his  garments 
were  drawn  back.  About  him  knelt  his  wife 
and  children.  Lois  raised  a  tear-staiu-d 
face  to  her  sou,  then  buried  it  again  in  iier 
hands.  Kedar  threw  himself  beside  the 
couch.    The  old  man's  lips  moved. 

"  Aha!"  cried  lie.  "  it  is  blood-revenge! 
Miznl,  bold  chief,  I  have  you  now!  Yes,  fly 
up  to  your  eyrie  among  the  roclJ^^s.  if  you  can. 
I  shall  reach  you  there!  Blood  must  be 
spilled.      My  honor!    My  lionor!" 

He  was  thinking  of  a  fray  of  his  youth  in 
which  he  had  paid  the  dues  of  blood  for  an 
only  brother.    Again,  he  seemed  to  be  dash 
ing  on  in  the  chase.    >; ;     .  .     .,,;•; 

"  On.  on,  Zebe!"  he  cried.  In  a  hoarse  whis- 
per, "on.  good  steed!  Tli<'  quarry  is  ahead 
there!     See  the  falcon  swoop!     Good  steed, 


on!" 


■■«>:««.■-„»/ 


.(  .i 


His   voice   was  growing   fainter,    yet   he 


continued  to  wave  his  arms  feebly,  and  to 
move  hl!>  lips  in  inaudible  muttering.  Once 
more  the  words  became  distinct: 

"  Here.  Kedar.  little  man!  Let  father  put 
you  on  his  horse.  Ther»-.  boy,  here!  You 
will  make  a  son  for  a  Bedouin  to  be  proud 
of!" 

A  tear  rolled  down  Kedar's  cheek  as  the 
dying  man  thus  pictured  n  happy  scene  of 
his  childhood.  "  I'oor  old  father!"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Manasseh,  It  is  hard  to  see  him 
die  thus  godlessly.    Had  I  but  come  sooner!" 

The  oid  Sheikh's  breath  came  shorter.  His 
hand  moved  more  feebly;  he  turned  his  head 
uneasily  and  opened  his  eyes. 

He  fixed  them  upon  his  son  with  a  look  of 
consciousness.    His  face  brightened. 

"  Dear  fatlier,"  whispered  the  youth,  and 
kissed  his    heek. 

A  t^mWe  spread  over  the  old  man's  face. 
His  lips  formed  the  words  "  My  s*>u!"  His 
eyes  closed,  and  the  old  Bedouin  was  dead. 

The  women  broke  Into  a  low  wall,  and 
Kedar,  with  a  tenderness  not  of  the  old  time, 
strove  to  comfort  his  mother.  The  rites  of 
anointing  the  body  for  Imrlal  were  per- 
formed, and  all  through  the  evening  f'le  dif- 
ferent members  of  the  tribe  gathered  mourn- 
fully in  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  brave  old 
leader. 

When  night  fell  Kedar  went  out;  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  tent  seemed  to  choke  him. 
Manasseh  stood  silently  by  his  side.  The 
wail  of  the  women  sounded  in  a  low  burial- 
song  from  within,  and  groups  of  men,  talli- 
Ing  in  whispers,  gathered  before  the  door. 

Kedar  stood  with  folded  arms  and  head 
thrown  back,  looking  upon  tlie  heavens.  A 
star  fell.  Every  Bedouin  bowed  his  head, 
for  the  Arabs  believe  that  when  a  star  falls 
a  soul  ascends  to  paradise. 

"  Manasseh,"  said  Kedar  in  a  low  tone,  "  I 
cannot  let  them  bury  him.  They  would  do 
it  with  half-heathen  rites." 

"Can  none  amo':^  all  these  conduct  Chris- 
tian service?" 

"  Not  one.  My  mother  is  the  only  one  who 
knows  aught  of  Christianity." 

"Then."  said  Manasseh.  "if  you  will  let 
me,  I  shall  offer  prayers  above  his  grave." 


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THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


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"  No,  Manasseh,"  said  Kedar  decidedly, 
"  these  people  would  resent  it  iu  a  stranger. 
I  shall  do  it;  they  will  ^raut  me  the  privilege 
as  the  right  of  a  son." 

"  And  rightly,"  exclaimed  Manasseh,  sur- 
prised and  pleased  at  the  staunchness  with 
which  his  cousin  took  his  new  stand. 

On  the  following  day  the  funeral  wound 
slowly  up  the  defile  to  the  place  of  the  lonely 
grave.  And  there  Kedar  prayed  simply  and 
earnestly,  a  prayer  in  which  the  spiritual  en- 
lightenment of  the  sorrowful  people  about 
him  was  the  chief  theme.  They  did  not  un- 
derstand all  its  meaning,  but  tliey  were  im- 
pressed by  the  solemnity  and  sinf?erity  of  the 
young  Arab's  manner. 

Then  the  little  heap  of  sand  was  raised, 
and  four  stone  slabs  were  placed,  according 
to  Bedouin  custom,  upon  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  DEATH  OF  MOHAMMED. 

"  Nothing  can  we  call  our  own  but  deatb  "Shake- 
speare. 

HILE  Musa  thus 
lay  dying  in  the 
tents  of  Nejd,  the 
cold  hand  of  death 
was  fast  closing 
upon  another  in 
the  land  of  Ara- 
bia. Day  by  day 
the  germs  of  dis- 
ease  pulsed 
stronger  and  stronger  through  the  veins  of 
Mohammed.  Monarch  of  Arabia,  originator 
of  a  creed  which  was  eventually  to  push  it- 
self throughout  Egypt,  India,  Afghanistan, 
Persia,  and  even  to  the  wild  steppes  of 
Siberia,  he  must  now  die.  He  viewed  the 
end  with  firmness,  and  it  has  been  a  matter 
of  controversy  as  to  whether  in  these  later 
days  he  still  had  the  hallucination  of  being 
a  prophet. 

Too  feeble  to  walk  to  tlie  mosque,  he  lay, 
tended  by  his  wives,  in  tlie  tent  of  Ayesha, 
his  favorite.  Not  many  days  before  his 
death  he  asked  that  he  might  be  carried  to 


the  mosque.  Wi'Mng  arms  bore  him  thither, 
and  placed  him  in  the  pulpit,  from  whence 
he  could  look  down  upon  the  city,  and  away 
to  vhe  palm-groves  of  Kuba.  Then,  turning 
his  face  towards  the  holy  city,  Mecca,  he 
addx'essed  the  crowds  of  waiting  people 
below. 

"  If  there  be  any  man,"  said  he,  "  whom  1 
have  unjustly  scourged,  I  submit  my  own 
back  to  the  lash  of  retaliation.  Have  I 
aspersed  the  reputation  of  any  Mussulman? 
—let  him  proclaim  my  faults  in  the  face  of 
the  congregation.  Has  anyone  been  despoiled 
of  his  goods?— the  little  that  1  possess  shall 
compensate  the  principal  and  the  interest  of 
tl  vi  debt." 

He  then  liberated  his  slaves,  gave  direc- 
tions as  to  the  order  of  his  funeral,  and  ap- 
pointed Abu  Beker  to  supply  his  place  in 
offering  public  prayer.  This  seemed  to  indi- 
cate that  Abu  Beker  was  to  be  his  successor 
In  ofilce;  and  the  long-tried  friend  accord- 
ingly became  the  first  caliph  of  the  Saracen 
empire. 

After  this  the  prophet  was  conveyed  again 
to  the  house  of  Ayesha.  The  fever  increased, 
and  the  pain  in  his  head  became  so  great 
that  he  more  than  once  preseed  his  hands 
upon  it  exclaiming.  "  The  poison  ot  Kliaibar! 
The  poison  of  Khaibar!" 

Once,  perceiving  the  mother  of  Bashar,  the 
soldier  who  had  died  of  the  poison  in  the 
fatal  city,  he  said: 

"  O  motlior  of  Bashar.  the  cords  of  my 
heart  are  now  breaking  of  the  food  which  I 
ate  with  your  sen  at  Khaibar!"  *» 

At  anotlier  time,  springing  up  in  delirium, 
he  called  for  pen  and  ink  that  he  might 
write  a  new  revelation;  but  owing  to  his 
weak  state,  his  request  was  refused.  In  talk- 
ing to  those  about  him  he  said  that  Azrael. 
the  Angel  of  Death,  had  not  dared  to  take  his 
soul  until  he  had  aslced  his  permission. 

A  few  nights  before  his  death,  he  awoke 
from  a  troubled  sleep,  and,  starting  wildly 
from  his  couch,  sprar^g  up  with  unnatural 
strength  from  his  bed. 

"  Come,  Belus!"  he  cried  to  an  attendant. 
"  Come  with  me  to  the  burial-place  of  El 
Bakia'    The    dead    call    to    me    from    their 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


91 


A 


graves,  and  I  must  go  thither  to  pray  for 
them." 

Alone  they  passed  Into  the  night;  through 
the  long,  silent  streets  they  walked  like 
phantoms;  up  the  whit,  road  of  Nedj  they 
glided,  until  th?  few  low  tombs  of  the  cem- 
etery to  the  sontheast  of  the  city  were  in 
sight. 

At  the  border  of  the  bleak,  lonely  field, 
where  the  wind  moaned  among  the  tombs 
like  the  sighing  of  a  weeping  Rachel,  Mo- 
hammed paused. 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  O  people  of  El 
Bakia!"  he  cried,  "  Peace  be  with  you, 
martyrs  of  El  Bakia!  One  and  all,  peace  be 
with  you!  We  verily,  if  Allah  please,  are 
about  to  join  you!  O  Allah,  pardon  us  and 
them!  And  the  mercy  of  God  and  his  bless- 
ings be  upon  us  all!" 

Thus  he  prayed,  stretching  his  hands  to- 
wards the  spot  where  his  friends  lay  in  their 
long  sleep.  His  companion  stood  in  awe 
behind  him,  shivering  in  superstitious  terror, 
as  the  white  tombs  gleamed  like  moving  ap- 
paritions through  the  gloom,  and  the  night- 
owls  hooted  with  a  mournful  cadence  o'er 
the  dreary  waste. 

When  he  had  concluded,  the  prophet 
turned  towards  home.  But  the  excitement 
of  mind  which  had  endowed  him  with  al- 
most supernatural  strength  now  deserted 
him.  His  steps  grew  feeble  and  he  was  fain 
to  lean  upon  Belus  on  his  painful  way  back. 

He  grew  rapidly  worse.  His  wife  Ayesha, 
and  his  daughter  Fatima,  wife  of  Ali,  seldom 
left  his  bedside.  When  the  last  came,  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  and  exclaimed, 
"O  Allah,  pardon  my  sins!"  He  then,  with 
his  own  feeble  hand,  sprinided  his  face  with 
water,  and-  soon  afterwards,  with  his  head 
on  Ayesha's  bosom,  he  departed,  in  the  sixty- 
third  year  of  his  age,  and  the  eleventh  year 
of  the  Hejira.  A.  D.  032. 
--:  Tho  frenzied  people  would  not  believe  that 
he  was  dead.  "  He  will  arise,  like  Jesus," 
they  said.  But  no  returning  breath  quivered 
through  the  cold  lips  or  animated  the  rigid 
form  of  him  whom  they  passionately  called 
to  life;  and  not  until  Abu  Beker  aissured 
them  that  he  was  really  no  more,  saying. 


"  Did  he  not  himself  assure  us  that  he  must 
experience  the  common  fate  of  all?  Did  he 
not  say  in  the  Koran,  '  Mohammed  is  no 
more  than  an  apostle;  the  other  apostles 
have  already  deceased  before  him;  if  he  die 
therefore,  or  be  slain,  will  ye  turn  back  on 
your  heels?'  "—not  until  then  did  they  dis- 
perse, with  deep  groans. 

Mohammed  was  buried  in  the  house  in 
which  he  died,  his  grave  being  dug  fn  the 
spot  beneath  his  bed;  but  some  ye£i*6  later 
a  stone  tomb  was  erected  over  the  grave, 
and  until  the  present  day  the  plare  Is  held 
so  sacred  that  it  ivS  at  the  risk  of  his  life  tf»at 
anyone  but  a  Mussulman  dares  enter. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  NEW  HOME. 

"  On  these  small  cares  of  daughter,  wife,  or  Mend, 
The  almost  sacred  joys  of  Home  depend." 

—Hannah  More. 

IN  the  quiet  valley  in  Pales- 
tine life  had  been  deoling 
gently  with  Nathan  and  his 
family.  The  long,  long  ab- 
sence of  Manasseh  was  the 
one  thing  lacking  for  their 
perfect  contentment. 

"  It  is  well,"  Nathan  would 
say,  yet  his  eyes  would  turn 
wistfully  towards  the  South, 
as  though  he  half-hoped  to  see  the  beloved 
face  of  his  son  appearing  over  the  hill.  The 
mother  grew  weary  with  waiting,  yet  she 
did  not  murmur,  but  whispered  to  her  lonely 
heart,  "  Liviuf  or  dead.  It  must  be  well." 
Only  once  she  said,  "  Husband,  he  Is  surely 
dead."  and  Nathan  replied: 

"  Let  us  still  hope,  wife,  that  we  may  yet 
see  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  in  permitting 
us  to  behold  his  race." 

So  they  hoped  on,  and  worked  on.  amid 
their  orange  trees,  their  corn  and  vegetables, 
and  their  sheep  browsing  peacefully  on  the 
hills.  And  Mary  tended  the  jasmine  flowers 
and  rose-bushes  at  the  door,  carrying  water 
to  them  night  and  morning,  that  ttey  might 


i  ^«ffMt'«»4UWuMW|iw«a#^yMM»'ti*aM4»3--''''''-- 


I'Pr- 


^m 


92 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


I: 


I' 


N 


W 


look  at  their  prettiest  wlien  Maiiiisseh  came. 
Only  one  letter  had  reached  them  —  a 
cheery,  hopeful  letter,— but  it  had  been  a 
long  time  on  the  way,  and  the  events  of 
which  it  told  had  talten  place  many  AveeU? 
before  it  reached  the  Jordan  valley.  It  had 
told  them  of  Yusuf  and  Arazi,  of  the  little 
church,  of  the  sender's  strange  meeting  with 
Kedar,  and  the  news  he  had  gathered  of 
Lois.  Then  tt  had  told  of  the  war,  and  had 
closed  with  an  affectionate  farewell,  in 
which  ihe  writer  expressed  his  wish,  rather 
than  his  expectation,  of  being  able  to  make 
his  way  to  the  new  home  soon. 

How  long  it  seemed  to  Mai-y  since  that 
last  word  had  come!  -4.nd  he  was  not  home 
yet!  She  kept  the  precious  manuscript  in 
her  bosom,  and  twenty  times  a  day  she 
looked  down  the  long  valley  for  the  well- 
known  form.  One  morning  she  sat  by  the 
river,  idly  plashing  her  bare  feet  in  is 
golaen  ripples,  and  looking  at  the  shadows 
on  the  little  stones  near  the  shore.  About 
her  gambled  a  pet  lamb,  and  above,  a  soft 
blue  sky  was  flecked  witli  fleecy  white 
clouds.  She  twirled  a  sprig  of  blossoms  in 
her  hand,  but  her  thoughts  were  far  away  in 
dear,  hot,  dusty,  dreary  Mecca. 

"  It  is  not  so  pleasant  as  this,  though,"  she 
thought,  "  if  Manasseh  were  only  liere." 

Just  then  the  tinkle  of  a  camel-bell  was 
heard,— a  strange  sound  in  that  secluded 
spot.  Mai'y  looked  up,  and  saw  what  seemed 
to  be  a  great  many  people  coming  over  the 
hilJ,  camels  bearing  shugdufs,  too,  and  pack- 
mules,  heavily  Jaden.    - /,  i  .         .li 

Trembling,  she  rushed  into  the  house. 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  means  thisV  See  the 
people!  Manasseh  would  not  bring  all  of 
those  with  him?"     ji  <*  .Lil*v  •!/<  i   i-         ui'< 

The  mother  shaded  her  eyes  with  h(  liand, 
and  looked  fortn.  anxiously. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  train.  Who 
were  they?  Not  Manasseh:  Manasseh  would 
not  come  so  slowly.  Can  it  be?  Not 
Yusuf!  Not  Amzi!  Yes.  yes!  O  joy!  It  Is 
they!— and  many  other  familiar  faces  smile 
also  from  the  train! 

"Is  Manasseh  well?" 

"  Yes,  Manasseli  is  well,  and  happy.'Uj  «>^ 


So  questions  were  asked  and  answered  In 
joyful  confusion;  and  Nathan  cmue  in  from 
the  hills  to  bid  the  travelers  welcome.  Then 
the  dusty,  travel-stained  tents  were  pitched 
once  more,  this  time  on  a  grassy  slope  by  the 
rippling  Jordan.  A  simple  repast  was 
spread,  and  the  company  dined  in  royal 
state. 

With  what  surprise  did  Nathan  and  his 
household  greet  the  wife  of  Asru  and  her 
sweet-faced  daughter  as  sisters  in  Christ, 
and  with  what  sympathy  did  they  hear  of 
Asru's  sad  death! 

Then  plans  for  the  immediate  settlement 
of  the  little  party  were  made.  Tasture-land 
in  abundance  was  to  be  had;  hence  the 
majority  of  the  new-comers  would  be 
speedily  and  comfortably  provided  with  new 
homes.  Amzi  would  take  up  bis  abode  in 
some  comfortable  town-house  not  far  dis- 
tant, and  Yusuf  would  remain  with  him  for 
the  present. 

Mary  and  Sherah  were  friends  at  once,  and 
eve  evening  fell,  tliey  sat,  as  girls  will,  in  a 
cozy  nook  by  tlie  river-side  forming  plans 
for  walks  and  talks  daring  the  long,  bright, 
sunmier  days.  .    .<  :  ^v-v   ,m  ■'!/;  *(_ 

E\  ery  cloud  had  drifted,  for  the  time  being, 
from  tlie  happy  company;  and,  ere  tiiey  re- 
tired to  rest,  all  united  with  fervor  iu  the 
words  of  the  grand  song:       ,/<?;>.;.,     -    . 

'  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  forget  not 
all  his  oeneflts:  who  forgiveth  all  thine 
iniquities;  who  healeth  all  thy  diseases;  who 
redeemeth  thy  life  from  destruction;  who 
crowneth  thee  with  loving  kindness  and 
tender  mercies;  wlio  satisfleth  thy  mouth 
witli  good  tilings:  so  that  thy  youth  is  re- 
newed like  tlie  eagle's.  The  Lord  executeth 
righteousness  and  judgment  for  all  that  are 
oppressed.  .  .  Bless  the  Lord,  all  his 
works,  in  all  places  of  his  dominion!  Bless 
the  Lord,  O  my  soul!" 

And  later  in  that  same  evening,  another 
group  came  to  Nathan's  house.  The  door 
was  closed,  for  the  evening  was  chill  with- 
out, A  knock  was  heard.  Mary  opened  the 
door,  and  theie  was  Manasseh  himself, 
radiantly  happy;  and  close  behind  him  wa« 
another  Manasseh  with  Bedouin  eyes. 


THE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


93 


\ 


Mother,  sister,  and  father  pressea  romul 
the  youth  until  he  could  scarcely  move. 

"There,  there!"  he  sold,  shaking  them  off 
playfully,  "  my  cousin  Kedar  will  be  jealous. 
Mother,  this  is  Lois'  son.  and  there  is  some- 
one in  the  darkness  liere  still." 

The  youth  went  out.  Who  was  this  that 
he  assisted  from  the  shugduf?— the  living 
image  of  Lois  in  her  girlhood  days!  Not 
Lois,  but  lier  daughter,  a  Bedouin  maid 
fresh  as  the  breeze  from  her  native  hills. 
And  can  this  be  Lois— this  sad-faced  yet 
stately  woman?  It  is,  indeed,  and  the  long- 
separated  sisters  are  once  more  united. 
Ke<lar's  brothers  are  there  too,  and  one  more 
family  is  added  to  the  little  community. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

A  WEDDINf  I  IN  PALESTINE.  ,  ■ « 

God,  the  best  maUor  of  all  marriages.'"— Shakeapeare. 

OR  a  moment  let  us 

look    more    closely 

at  the  little  district 

where  the  Jewish  band 

found  a  home  after  all 

their  wanderings,    s- 

They  settled  at  a 
point  where  the  Jordan 
River,  that  birange 
river  flowing  for  its  entire  length  through  a 
depression  one  thousand  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  sea,  is  cut  up  by  many  a 
cataract;  and  the  rushing  noise  of  the 
water,  carried  from  its  mysterious  source 
at  the  foot  of  Mount  Hermon,  fills  the 
valley  with  a  music  not  lost  upon  ears 
long  accustomed  to  the  dry  wastes  of 
Arabian  deserts.  To  the  north  lie  plains 
where  cold  blasts  blow,  and  mountains 
whose  crests  gleam  with  never-failing  snow; 
yet  in  the  fair  vales  of  Jordan  the  tempered 
breeze  fans  the  air  with  the  mildness  of  a 
never-ceasing-summer,  and  the  soft  alluviiil 
soil  is  luxuriant  with  the  rich  growth  of  the 
tropics.    To  the  west  the  rugged  and  pictur- 


esque mountains  of  Judea  rise,  and  to  the 
east,  at  a  distance  of  some  ten  miles,  lie  the 
blue-tinted  mountuins  of  Moab,  rich  in  asso- 
ciations of  sacred  history. 

In  this  favored  spot,  shaded  by  waving 
groves  and  hidden  by  vines,  was  the  house 
of  Asru's  wife;  and  at  a  little  distance  from 
it  was  a  well,  an  old-fasliioned  Avell  such  as 
is  seen  only  in  the  East,  walled  about  with 
ancient  and  worn  flagstones,  between 
which,  at  one  side,  the  water  trickled  and 
ran  over  mossy  stones  to  the  river  below. 

A  large  tamarisk  tree  waved  above  it,  and 
in  its  shade,  with  one  knee  I'esting  on  the 
flag-stone,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her 
head,  and  her  large  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
mountains  of  Moab  beyond,  stood  Sherah, 
ere  the  sun  rose,  on  one  beautiful  autumn 
morning. 

An  earinen  water  pitcher,  such  as  Is  car- 
ried by  the  girls  of  the  Orient,  was  beside 
her,  yet  she  moved  not  to  execute  her 
errand.  t  ■ 

The  3un  arose  behind  the  mountain;  the 
amber  sky  became  golden;  the  rosy  pink 
clouds  changed  to  radiant  silver;  the  birds 
sang;  the  dew  glittered;  and  the  sun  shone 
through  the  leaves  of  the  trees  with  a  flush 
of  green-gold. 

The  beauty  of  the  scene  touched  the  girl. 
In  a  low.  clear  voice,  spontaneous  as  tlie 
song  of  a  bird,  she  sang:  "For  the  Lord  shall 
comfort  Zion;  he  will  comfort  her  waste 
places:  and  he  will  make  her  wilderness  like 
Eden,  and  her  desert  like  the  garden  of  the 
liOrd;  joy  and  gladness  shall  be  found 
therein,  thanksgiving  and  the  voice  of  mel- 
ody." 

The  song  brouglit  comfort  to  her;  for  was 
she  not  soon  to  leave  thi"  fairy  spot,  this 
Aidenn,  to  return  to  the  land  of  the  Mussul- 
man; not  the  land  of— 

"  Deep  myrrh  thiekets  blowing  round 
The  stately  cedar,  tamarisks. 
Thick  rosaries  of  scented  thorn,  '      't  ■ 

Tall  Orient  shrubs,  and  obelisks 
Graven  with  emblems  of  the  time," 

but  to  the  bleak,  treeless  plains  of  Nejd, 
breezy  with  the  warm  breath  of  desert- 
swept  winds,  bounded  by  rolling  mountains, 


94 


TEE  DAYS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


rl 


.*  :.(? 


Olid  dotted  by  the  black  tents  of  those  roving 
hordes  of  whom  it  has  been  said  that  "  their 
hand  Is  against  every  man,  and  every  man's 
hand  is  against  them,"— the  fierce,  cruel  yet 
generous,  impulsive,  courteous  tribes  of  the 
desert. 

For  Manasseh  and  Kedar  were  both  going 
back  to  the  desert  tribes,  braving  the  dan- 
gers of  persecution,  that  they  might  exert  an 
influence  in  christianizing  the  Bedc  iin 
tribes  over  whom  the  Moslems  as  yet  had 
little  power.  Sherah  was  going  back  as 
Mauasseh's  wife,  and  this  was  her  ^vedding- 
day.  She  was  willing  to  go,  yet  she  could 
not  help  feeling  a  littie  lonely  on  this  last 
morning  in  her  mother's  home. 

Presently  the  call  "Sherah!  Sherah!"  came 
through  the  olive  groves,  and  the  old  nurse 
hobbled  out.  The  woman  was  a  thorough 
type  of  an  aged  Arab,  lean,  wrinkled,  hook- 
nosed, with  skin  like  shrunken  leather,  and 
a  voice  like  a  raven.  Yet  Sherah  knew  her 
goodness  of  heart,  and  loved  her  dearly. 
She  was  taking  the  old  woman  back  with 
her,  for,  oddly  enough,  Zama  had  never 
felt  at  home  in  the  new  land,  and  often 
craved  that  her  bones  might  be  buried  In 
the  old  soil. 

"Why  disturb  me,  Zama?"  said  the  young 
woman  kindly.  "  See  you  not  that  I  am  oid- 
ding  farewell  to  this  dear  valley?" 

"  Aye,  aye,  child,"  muttered  the  old  nurse, 
"  but  we  must  put  the  wedding-gown  upon 
you.  and  twine  jasmine  in  your  hair."  She 
stroked  the  glossy  masses  fondly.  "Ah, 
to-morrow  it  must  be  braided  in  the  plaits  of 
the  matron,  and  the  coins  will  be  placed 
about  my  precious  one's  neck;  yet  It  seems 
only  yesterday  that  she  was  a  toddling  baby 
at  my  feet." 

The  two  women,  the  one  tall  and  lithe  as  a 
willow,  the  other  bent  and  shrunken,  took 
their  way  to  the  house.  Maiy  was  already 
there,  and  assisted  in  adorning  the  bride. 

The  guests  arrived,  and  the  simple  cere- 
mony was  soon  over;  then  the  company  sat 
down  to  the  wedding  feast.  Lois  and  her 
sister  talked  In  low  tones  to  the  mother  of 
Sherah,  who  grieved  a  little  Pt  the  separation 
from  her  daughter.    Happy  jests  and  laugh- 


ter passed  about  among  the  young  people. 
Amzl  went,  with  beaming  face,  from  group 
to  group;  and  Yusuf  looked  quietly  on. 

In  the  midst  of  the  entertainment  some  one 
came  to  the  door. 

"  It  is  a  peddler!"  cried  one.  "  Let  us  see 
what  he  has— perhaps  another  gift  for  our 
fair  bride." 

The  young  people  gathered  about  the  glit- 
tering trinkets.  Manasseh  came  near,  and, 
^^ilh  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  placed  his 
liand  jn  the  man's  shoulder.  The  peddler 
looked  up,  and  his  face  blanched  with  fear. 

It  was  the  little  Jew,  who,  having  escaped 
like  an  eel  from  Manasseh's  care  after  the 
Battle  of  Ohod,  and  having  become  thor- 
oughly frightened  at  the  idea  of  remaining 
longer  in  a  war-ridden  district,  had  disap- 
peared like  magic  from  the  plains  of  Arabia, 
and  had  become  once  more  the  Insignificant 
Jewish  peddler  in  the  more  secure  provinces 
to  the  north. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,"  laughed  Manas- 
seh. "  Vv'e  no  longer  take  prisoners  of  war; 
yet,  for  the  sake  of  old  acqurlntance,  I 
claim  you  to  partake  of  our  feast." 

The  little  man  was  half-dragged  to  the 
table  and  given  a  place  by  Nathan,  who 
spoke  kindly  to  him.  Yet  he  did  not  feel  at 
e.ise.  The  stolen  cup  seemed  to  point  an  ac- 
cusing finger  at  him;  and  he  ate  little,  and 
talked  less. 

Presently  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Yusuf. 
The  sight  of  the  man  whom  he  had  so  nearly 
delivered  to  death  ..-as  too  much  for  him. 
His  little  eyes  darted  about  as  if  suspicious 
of  some  design  upon  his  freedom.  He  could 
not  understand  the  magnanimity  of  these 
people,  and,  deeming  discretion  the  better 
part  of  valor,  he  sprang  from  the  table, 
shouldered  his  pack,  and  was  off,  to  be  seen 
no  more.  ■  ' 


m\ 


^^vn 


THE  DATS  OF  MOHAMMED. 


95 


if    i 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  FAREWELL. 

"  Sondry  folk,  by  aven- 
ture  y— falle  in  felawe- 
schipe.  '—Chaucer. 

ND  now,  our  tale 
draws  to  a  close, 
and  time  permits  but 
a  parting  fjjlance  at 
those  who  liave  been 
so  long  a  goodly  com- 
pany of  friends. 

Amzi  has,  in  his 
descent  to  old  age, 
developed  a  wonderful  activity 
of  mind  and  body.  He  has  be- 
come'one  of  the  most  influential 
members  of  the  little  town  in  which  he  has 
taken  up  his  abode.  Realizing  as  never  be- 
fore the  duty  which  man  owes  to  man,  and 
fully  awakened  at  last  to  the  fact  that  our 
talents  are  given  us  to  be  exercised  fully,  he 
no  longer  dreams  away  time  in  the  Arab 
Kaif ;  but,  from  morning  to  night,  his  plump 
figure  and  good-natured  old  face  are  seen,  up 
and  down,  in  the  mart,  in  the  council-cham- 
ber, in  the  church,  wherever  he  can  lend  a 
helping  hand.  He  has  even  assumed  the 
role  of  schoolmaster,  and  upon  the  earthen 
floor  of  an  unused  hall  he  gathers  day  by 
day  a  troop  of  little  ones,  over  whom  he 
bends  patiently  as  they  cling  to  his  gown  for 
sympathy  in  their  small  trials,  or  as  they 
trace  upon  their  wax  tablets,  with  little,  un- 
certain hands  and  in  almost  illegible  charac- 
ters, the  words  of  a  copy,  or  text. 

'*  Aye,"  he  says,  "  who  knows  what  these 
little  ones  may  some  day  become?  They  are 
as  impressiftnable  as  tlie  wax  upon  which 
they  write.  Heaven  grant  that  the  impres- 
sion made  upon  them  may  be  mighty  for 
good!" 

Kedar  has  married  a  Bedouin  maid,  and  is 
happy  in  his  free  life  in  the  old  land.  Naught 
but  the  desei't  could  sati,sfy  idm;  he  would 
stagnate  in  the  calm  life  which  those  in  the 
Jordan  valley  are  finding  so  pleasant. 

As  yet  he  and  Manasseh  have  not  been 
molested  in  their  work  by  the  Moslems;  and 

THE 


in  tlieir  remote  mountain  recesses  they  are 
persistently  fighting  agaiu,st  heathendom, 
and  are  leading  many  to  live  better  and  no- 
bler lives. 

And  Yusuf  ?  He  Is  in  his  home-land  again. 
Once  more  he  stands  upon  the  highest  point 
of  the  Guebre  temple.  Tiie  priests  have  not 
refused  him  admittance,  for  no  one  has 
recognized  in  this  harmless  old  man  the 
once  Guebre  Yusuf. 

Ah,  It  is  heathen  Persia  si  ill!  The  fires 
filcker  upon  the  altar,  and  the  idolatrous 
chants  arise  on  the  air.  Yusuf  covers  his 
face  w"th  his  mantle  and  weeps.  He  has 
but  a  few  years  of  strength  before  him,  but 
he  will  spend  them  in  trying  to  bring  the 
Gospel  of  love  to  these  poor,  blind  people. 

He  grieves  for  his  benighted  country;  but 
Avheu  the  moon  slowly  rises,  shedding  her 
soft  rays  over  the  old  scene,  the  mountains, 
the  valleys  below,  all  calm,  peaceful,  radi- 
ant, he  is  comforted.  He  thinks  of  Him  who 
"  created  tlie  lesser  orb  to  rule  the  night," 
and  a  great  joy  fills  his  heart  that  he  has 
been  led  to  a  recognition  of  Him.  and 
that  he  has  been  enabled  to  lead  others  to 
Him. 

His  face  glows  with  serene  happiness  and 
hope.  He  raises  his  eyes  to  the  calm,  deep 
heavens,  and  says: 

"  O  Father,  I  thank  thee  that  *  mine  eyes 
have  seen  the  King,  the  Lord  of  hosts,'  and 
his  dear  Son!  I  thank  thee  that  thou  hast 
led  me  to  see  Truth!  O  God,  thou  hast 
taught  me  from  my  youth,  and  hitherto  have 
I  declared  thy  wondrous  works!  Now  also 
when  I  am  old  and  gray-headed,  O  God.  for- 
sake me  not  until  I  have  showed  thy 
strength  unto  this  generation,  and  thy  power 
to  every  one  that  is  to  come!  And  now. 
Father,  '  what  wait  I  for?  My  hope  is  in 
thee,'  the  great  God,  the  ever-loving  Father, 
now  and  for  evermore.    Amen  and  amen." 

And  there  will  we  leave  him.  ,  "" 

.  - . .    ,  ^.  - 

"  Mav  he  Hve 
Longer  than  T  have  time  to  tell  his  venral 
Evor  beloved  nnd  loving,  may  his  rule  bef 
And  when  old  Time  shall  lead  him  to  his  end. 
Goodness  and  he  fill  up  one  monument!" 

—IShakesi  eare, 

END. 


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J.ji '.» ■ 


A  Heart -Winner.: 


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to  useful  and  nobie  lives.  Anu  this  is  the  verv 
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success  of 


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36  WASHIWCKTOW  prTTp  A  TH 
STREET.  LdliV^AUU. 


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The  Wrestler  of  Philippi 


QY    THB    eminent    STORY-WFIITER,    FANNIE    E.    NEWBERRY. 


COMPANION  BOOK  TO  "TITUS. 


»» 


/^  TALE  of  the  tirrjes  of  the  early  followers  of  Jesus.  I50W  they  lived  tl^e  "Christ- 
i'  life"  iQ  tfje  first  century,  and  wljot  Christ  meant  to  then).  As  "Titus"  gave 
the  reader  a  picture  of  the  life  arjd  tinges  of  Christ,  so  this  booK  is  inteoded  to 
portray  ttje  life  and  tin)es  of  the  early  Church  and  to  be  a  continuation  of,  or 
sequel   to,  that   booK- 


•  • 


Tliis  hoolc  is  written 
expressly  for  us  by 
tiic  world  -  renowned 
story-  writer.  Mrs. 
F.innie  E.  Newberry. 
It  is  the  worli  of  many  months  of  careful  thought  and 
study,  and  probably  the  best  effort  of  her  life. 


Written. 
lEypreeel^  for  llle. 


.{.  4.  .^ 


Mill  IReat)  lit 


The  style  is  her  l-'cst.  The 
plot  is  fascinating.  It  is 
a  story  for  both  younj^  and 
old.  Its  Oriental  setting,  de- 
scription of  quaint  customs, 
manners,  beliefs,  etc.,  gives  it  a  freshness  and  attractive- 
ness all  its  own. 


♦    ♦    ♦ 


m*    C^hAllIN    Xn^     ^'^'^  purpose  of  the  book 
III    <4JUUlllU    Ujyj     thesameasweh.idinbringii 

"inntolb  (3oo^ 


IS 

inging 
out  "■'itus"— to  make  the  life 
and  teachings  of  Jesus  seem 
real  and  practical,  so  that 
readers,  old  and  young,  may  gain  the  highest  and  truest 
conception  of  Him  and  of  the  ideal  life  He  lived  and 
taught,  and  become  enraptured  by  it,  thus  making  the 
Christian  life  joyous,  majestic,  conquering,  and  bringing 
the  reader  into  such  close,  loving  relationship  with  Christ 
as  to  care  above  al!  else  for  His  comp.inionship  and  for  a 
life  like  His.  "  The  Wrestler  of  Philippi ""  takes  up  the  life 
lived  and  taught  bv  Christ  where  He  left  it,  and  endeavors 
to  show  how  the  first  Christians,  having  received  their 
inspiration  directly  from  Him,  lived  that  life,  and  what  it 
meant  to  them  in  those  dark  times.  We  realize  the  use- 
fulness of  all  good,  religious  story-books,  but  the  trouble 


is  that  their  heroes  are  human  ones,  no  matter  how  good 
and  true  their  lives  may  be;  but  in  this  book,  as  in 
"Titus,"  Jesus  is  the  hero.  Perhaps  even  more  so  is  this 
seen  in  "The  Wrestler  of  Philippi,"  for  Jesus  stands  out  so 
plainly  as  the  one  inspiration  of  the  lives  of  these  Chris- 
tians that  the  attention  is  constantly  drawn  toward  Him. 

♦    4"    ♦ 


Che  HDoet  IDalue 
jfor  tbe  flDonc^. 


No  book  ever  pi-blishcd, 
except  "'Titus,"  has 
compared  with  this,  when 
price  and  quality  are 
considered.  It  is  put  up 
in  quarto  form,  has  1 12  pages,  and  contains  as  much  mat- 
ter as  the  ordinary  $1.50  story  book.  The  cover  is  of 
heavy  enameled  paper,  with  design  in  colors.  The  book 
is  illustrated  with  original  half-tone  engravings,  and  is 
printed  on  fine  paper  from  clear,  new  type. 

♦    ♦    ♦ 

||V.^»^^^  ^  This  remarkable  book  is  offered  at 
11^  ^  IC  V  8  ♦  ^  price  thai  places  it  within  the  reach 
**  of  all.    No  other  publisher  has  ever 

offered  such  value.  Ask  your  newsdealer  for  it,  or  send 
your  order  direct  to  the  publishers  for  one  or  more 
copies. 

Pamphlet  Edition,  in  quarto  form,  112  large  pages, 
heavy  paper  cover  in  beautiful  colors;  illustrated.  Price, 
postpaid,  in  lots  to  suit,  five  cents  per  copy. 

Cloth  Edition,  1 12  large  pages,  same  size  and  style  as 
above,  library  binding,  heavy  cloth  covers.  Price,  20 
cents  per  copy  postpaid,  to  any  address. 


ADDRESS : 


DAVID    C.  COOK    PUBLISHING    CO.,^"  ^bt!K'^°'' CHICAGO. 


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